It Takes Two, to Practice
by Rogue in Rouge
Summary: Give them touch. Take away the secrets. What could possibly come between Rogue and Remy? ...Just themselves and a past that won't die.
1. Making the Wager

It takes Two…to Practice

By

A Rogue in Rouge a.k.a. Silver Nitte iz on a Rogue 'n' Remy kick

* * *

I've always loved the idea of Rogue and Gambit, even though I never read many of the comics. Admittedly, I haven't seen too much of Evo either, though I did manage to see the infamous kiss and Cajun Spice (I can't believe it was just one episode!) – and after considerable perusal of the fanfiction world and personal hemming & hawing, here I am with my very own story.

This story will start out mostly drama and romance with angst (this _is_ Rogue and Remy after all), only getting into action & adventure down the line. Yes, there will be an actual villain, etc. I'm considering a sequel, but that's still debatable, so loose ends should be minimal.

Warning: this is as much an exploration of the connections between sexuality and intimacy as it is between Rogue and Remy, the pre-sex stages versus actual sex. It will NOT be porn or overly graphic – sexual shenanigans are NOT the main focus. That said, given the subject matter, it will still be a somewhat graphic. You have been warned.

This takes place post-Apocalypse, ignoring the events of Cajun Spice unfortunately – I needed them not to have any special relationship, also I'm gonna take some liberties with the stage of Remy's relationship with the Guild.

**Note: I have now combined chapters 1 and 2 to better fit the form of the rest of the fiction.**

Now on to the reading enjoyment – I do not own X-Men comics, cartoons, movies, or any other connected franchise – like that's a shocker.

* * *

Patience was not a native virtue to Rogue.

It had been forced upon her, like so many things, with the activation of her mutation. Cautiousness had to become second nature. It dictated what she wore, where she went, how she moved, who were her friends, and redefined all ideas of 'risky' behavior. Vigilance, self-control, wariness of her every motion and every other's – there was always a forced distance as she forced herself to wait. Wait for the hope Xavier had thrown her way so long ago.

Wait for the day she could control.

Wait for the day she could touch.

Wait for the day she too could enjoy the simplest things others took for granted: wearing a bikini, play wrestling with her brother, not wearing gloves, kissing – anyone.

And so was it any big surprise that she was impatient when it was so damn close?

Rogue leaned sideways on the staircase, legs tucked to her side, forehead resting on the slats barring her from the open expanse. She was waiting, yet again. And inevitably her hands began to fiddle with her 'improved' gloves – open-fingered. Open-fingered was the most daring she would, could, go, a compromise almost more for herself than for Xavier. He warned her that she needed more time to practice her control. At the moment, she was still mastering intentional touch, by herself or by others. Unintentional or accidental was beyond her scope, thus the continued need to be covered up. But she wanted, no needed to experience some sign of progress, some sign that she was finally achieving what she'd ached after for years.

Thus the gloves, still most covered for others' protection – and her own fears, but with allowance for her to touch – and practice.

Practice was what she needed, now that Xavier had finally found the key.

* * *

"**Ya mean ya've figured out how to turn mah powers off?" After ten minutes of hemming and hawing on Xavier's side, she had come to that conclusion. Even if it didn't seem possible.**

**Xavier steppled his fingers, undisputedly a sign for her not to overreact – not overreact to the fact she'd be free from the entrapment of her powers? She could feel something inside her shift, like the cornerstone of her world had just been inched out of place. "Like I said before, your powers are alike to Scott's in that they are permanently on, but since there is no corresponding physical damage, I have had hope that your powers' trigger was lodged in the psychological realm. It seems this is so, in fact, it is actually in the emotive realm."**

"**Emotive?" she echoed, confused. "Ya mean mah feelings make it work? 'Cuz it's not like ah usually eva want it tah work –"**

"**I know," Xavier intoned soothingly. "But in the first usage of your powers, the trauma of the absorption permanently switched the trigger to default."**

"**So then you can just turn it off?" Rogue felt light-headed. It couldn't possibly be that easy – and of course Xavier's brow wrinkled.**

"**I'm afraid it is not so simple. It is much more likely that you will need to put yourself into an emotional state that will disarm the trigger when and while you have contact," he ****paused slightly, but decided he needed to lay out the whole situation before gauging her reaction. "Because of the nature of your trauma, a jar to the emotional state will most likely automatically re-arm the trigger."**

**Rogue closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "So let me ge' this strayigh', if ah'm all calm and focused," she peeked open an eye to see if her interpretation of the correct emotional state was right. Xavier nodded encouragingly. "ah can touch, but if anathing happens, ah'll go back to absorbing."**

"**That's the theory." She looked at him, not able to reconcile the image of freedom with limitations.**

"**But ah'll be able to touch?" she whispered.**

**Xavier leaned over and reassuringly rested his hand on her gloved one. She stared, the thought of the glove not having to be there, almost too suffocating to grasp. "Yes Rogue. All you will need is practice."**

* * *

Rogue bit her lip, shaking her head to rouse herself. She'd been practicing – with Logan first, as he could most quickly recover. Kitty and Kurt had soon followed, more than happy to help her finally attain her most coveted desire. Her relationship with Kurt was still strained post-Apocalypse, actually her relationship with the whole Manor had really been strained. She'd even briefly yet seriously considered getting away for a while, until the Professor had dropped this bombshell on her.

Kurt and she still had yet to really talk out their issues, but the intimacy the testings required was slowly but surely healing the rift. She actually hadn't expected Kurt to volunteer, but once news had spread across the mansion, as inevitably it did, he showed up, claiming he wanted her to finally experience 'the fuzzy man.'

Her lips quirked, but the smile slowly died on her lips. Kurt, Kitty, Logan were all good and fine to practice basic touch, but there was more, more than she would just feel downright weird asking them to help her with. She hadn't even considered it until Kitty had been joking around saying maybe she'd even finally get a boyfriend.

"**Maybe you can even make time for a guy now–" she said cheekily, affably nudging her best friend.**

Rogue snapped back with something snide about girls and independence and idiot guys. But the thought had stayed, vaguely hovering, taunting the edges of her mind…

To be able to kiss someone.

Touch someone intimately in the ways romance novels rambled on about, teenage girls giggled over, guys fantasized about when looking a pretty girl.

Freedom to be with someone and indulge in the million tiny careless caresses of lovers…

Rogue gave a deep sigh and returned to leaning against the banister. She just begun attaining control and now she wanted more. She wanted to scold herself for being greedy, but damn it she was tired of waiting and wondering.

"–**though it might be a little hard to concentrate around him."**

She could get that type of control too, but that would require different practice. A different partner even. Someone who was accessible, thus in the mansion. Someone who was reckless enough to risk it, perceptive enough to back off when needed, casual enough to just practice and not get attached…

"Ah, partin' so soon, _petite_? Remy's disappointed," his voice was slow and smooth, like the bayou mud he undoubtedly had crawled out from. There was a female titter and she mentally rolled her eyes.

Unfortunately for her, almost all the guys in the mansion were too old or too young, involved with someone else or at least already interested. Or Kitty had a crush on them…

Gambit was in the right age range and enough of a player that interest wouldn't be a problem, in either direction. His character was not the only reason she chose him though. Absorbing kinetic explosion ability could be problematic, but he'd grudgingly admitted to minor empathetic abilities when he'd arrived at the manor three months ago, leisurely strolling in with Colossus as if they would welcome him with open arms. Xavier had, if not certain others, namely Scott. She hadn't been too keen on him either, almost getting her hand blown off among other battles still vivid in her mind. But he was here and –

"'**s shame 'bout the whole **_**sans touche**_**," he smirked down at her as she paused, frowning at him and denying the little tingle that went down her spine under the glint of his strange ruby eyes. "but y' know, Remy neva turned down a chance to be **_**creatif**_

She'd given him a nasty reply at the time. She rolled her shoulders and stood up. Seemed like she'd have to eat her words, as distasteful as that was to her.

It was now or never; at the moment, she was roommate-less as Kitty had broken her leg and been moved to a downstairs room for convenience. (As ironic as it was, the Midwestern teen had embarrassingly enough acquired the injury by tumbling while showering. The rest of the Manor still had a hard time not cracking up when she entered a room.)

Still, Rogue couldn't help but hesitate…

"Why, if it ain't _ma chérie_." She wasn't able to keep from starting. Gambit was leaning on the banister, smirking in that irritatingly relaxed posture that made her just want to smack him. As it was, she had to bite back the urge to correct him – she wanted him to agree to practice with her, after all.

She gave her lips an artificial lift. "Gam-, Remy" she hastily corrected herself. He lifted an eyebrow. "Ah was just lookin' for yah." Her accent sounded contrived and she mentally winced, but started to walk down the stairs.

"Oh?" He watched her saunter self-consciously down the stairs. "There somethin' Remy cahn do for you?" His fingers flexed and his smirk deepened. "Or do yah for?"

She couldn't help an ironic smile as she leaned forward and pressed firmly on his chest. "Act'ally _cher_, there is."

-Making the Wager (previous chapter two)-

Gambit was not struck speechless often and Rogue reveled in the moment. The exact expression of surprise and confusion on his face was priceless.

Her lips settled into a smirk. "Yah gotta a problem with that, sugah?" The sweetness of her tone could've given Sabertooth tooth rot.

Gambit was not so easily played though and with ease, he regained composure. Easily grasping her wrist lightly and twisting it, he jerked her even closer. Her muscles stiffened reflexively and the smirk once again switched sides.

"Actually _chérie_, I don'. But funny t'ing is, Remy be t'inkin' he was de last _homme_ Rogue wanted to play with." His fingers, fitted in those odd half-gloves, stroked her wrist as his eyes literally glinted. "If that is what the _chérie _be sujesting…"

"Ah need practice," she gritted out, wondering if reclaiming her arm would be considered hostile. She decided it would. Her decision, of course, had nothing to do with the little tingles his stroking was sending all the way to her spine.

"Practice," he repeated. "Practice Wolvie and Blue Boy, even de rest of de X-men could't help you wit'…" He seemed supremely pleased with whatever conclusions he was coming up with and she flushed.

"Don't tahke it so personally Gambit," she snapped, accent thickening defensively. "Yah the biggest player 'round here an' ah know yah can keep this quiet. 's not lahke we're gonna start datin'."

He raised an eyebrow and too late she remembered she was trying to be nice. D- it, she wasn't used to sucking up to people. It didn't help that Gambit, of all people, seemed to effortlessly get her riled. To her surprise though, he seemed to complete ignore the bite of her retort.

"What exactly would dis practice include, _chérie_?" He smirked at her hesitation. "Gambit be needing to know de terms before he takes de wager." Without warning, he released her arm and she was surprised at how acutely she could feel the loss of his heat. Resisting the urge to back away, she answered warily.

"Everything." It was said with more conviction than she really felt.

He seemed to ponder the word for a moment, letting his eyes take a tour down her body and up again. She felt the gaze like his physical touch and had to wonder how different the rush of heat would be in actuality. She couldn't help the blush that rose up unbidden.

"Everyt'ing?" he sounded skeptical and she swallowed, before lifting her chin firmly.

"Everything." Cocking his head, the intensity of his gaze remained constant and she spoke if only to convince herself that wasn't the biggest mistake she could ever make. "If ah'm eva gonna have a boyfriend, ah want tah be able tah," she floundered and felt like a complete idiot. "tah do everythang couples usuahlly do."

"And y' want Remy's help." Now, she was pretty sure he was just rubbing it in.

"Ah think we've covered tha' already." Self-consciously she crossed her arms and almost immediately regretted it as his eyes took a leisurely tour down to admire how it enhanced the scenery.

"Tempting," he drawled and she nearly jumped out of his skin as his right hand, which she sure as hell hadn't noticed get so close, dared to trace the curve of her hip with the delicacy of wind. The rush of uncomfortable heat was so intense, she nearly checked to make sure he hadn't accidentally charged her jeans. "But I don't t'ink de _chere_ be ready."

She blinked. It took her a moment to register he was saying no, especially after the touchy-feely. But she had anticipated a possible negative response and she wasn't going to accept no that easily. "Ah am!" He raised a skeptical eyebrow and she knew her own tension was belying her argument. She raised her chin. "Ah'm ready."

"Gambit wan' ta believe yah, really ah do –"

"Ah'll prove it," the rash declaration came out without premeditation, but when his eyes glinted in what she knew was interest, she firmed her courage. Considering what she was planning on doing with him, proving it shouldn't be a big deal. It was just getting the show started a little earlier.

"A demonstration, _petite_? I've heard of yaur," he moistened his lips and she vainly told herself she didn't notice, "practice, but mayhap seein' be believin', _non_? Or guess it'd be experiencin'…"

She knew she was far too red, but honestly, she was amazed at just how dirty he made that simple word sound. "Yah ready Cajun?" She inched her glove up before remembering it was unnecessary. She had yet to get used to that. Straightening her shoulders, she looked him dead in the eye to cover her momentary slip.

His eyes did some bizarre flare-up that heightened their contrast and she felt a shiver go down her spine. "Remy always be ready for you, _chere_."

She lifted her hand to his face, deliberately losing eye contact. She needed concentrate and feeling self-conscious did not help her enter a calm and relaxed mental state. She breathed, focusing on that simple action as Xavier had taught her. Breathing was natural, but still able to be controlled – just like touch.

Her fingers brushed his face and she let herself appreciate that he didn't flinch, before focusing completely on his cheek rather than him or the fact he was the first one outside her core group that she was touching like this. Focus!

It was rough – not with the harsh, abrupt bristles of Logan after returning from a mission unshaven, but a fine, prickly stubble. Gambit seemed to maintain this permanent five o'clock shadow that somehow managed to avoid becoming a shade too early or too late.

She'd once heard that some people could read a person's character from their face, specifically by touch. Having lived with the blind Irene, she'd considered it more than once, but it seemed irrelevant after her power had manifested. Fleetingly she wondered how exactly it would work. And yet…

Logan had such a feral quality to him, a sense that sometimes he really was more untamed beast than human. His face unshaven was of such nature trying to force its way out – sharp and abrasive, much like the claws that ripped from his knuckles.

Gambit was no beast. He was charmer, seducer, thief, trickster. He shimmied in, schmoozed, and then simply slipped out without making a ripple. The bad boy with the moral code of shadows more than substance, dashing with the touch of mystery that could make any girl gush. His wildness was perfectly coiffed to pluck a kiss or diamond off a swooning socialite, the shadow that always strikes five.

A rogue in the truest sense.

Lost in her ponderings, her fingers wandered further down. Strong jaw, she noted. Determination. Might. Power. She brushed his lips.

He let out a short, quick breath and her reverie was broken.

She dropped her hand hastily, losing her focus with almost startling speed, even as her eyes flew up to his. The intensity already high was now super-charged, his iris a fiery red rim in an abyss. She swallowed heavily. But other than his enflamed eyes, his face was unreadable. It made her nervous, because Gambit was always easy to read. Easy to read what he wanted you to read. He was excellent at portraying exactly what he wanted people to see – ease, determination, seduction, confidence. His stock expressions made people's actions more predictable, just like how her unwavering antagonism ensured a certain kind of response.

Seeing him without emotion was almost as rare as seeing him with real emotion and it unnerved her.

"We ain't gonna be serious, just practice at naight. And if anaything happens, we can just stop, no strings or, or anaything." She felt like an idiot babbling, but anything if he'd just snap out of it already. Unconsciously, she tugged at her gloves. "Ah just need someone that ah can touch without it meanin' anaything."

"Practice," he muttered, finally giving a sign of life. Rogue looked at him a little funny, but nodded. Then, in a motion she couldn't quite follow, he palmed a deck of cards from his duster and was shuffling them with the ease of a Vegas dealer. Her eyes caught by the strange fluid motion, his question caught her off guard. "So none of Remy be trompin' through de _chérie_'s head, _non_?"

She blinked. "Ah, no. Ah told yah, ah can control it." Realizing his meaning, she defended herself more forcefully, only for him to nod absently. It made her angrier, but she couldn't help but wonder: was that his point? For her anger to cloud his actual concern, the true issue?

Was he afraid of what she might absorb from him?

That had actually been the biggest obstacle she had foreseen to getting him to agree. Again, he and Wolverine were alike with a past cast in more shadows than substance. Only Gambit's dim past was of his own choice. The only reason they even knew he'd been, or was, a thief was because of Mesmero. And she had to wonder – what else was there?

Not that she was afraid. She'd absorbed Logan, Mystique, and Magneto at various times. Gambit had nothing she hadn't seen.

The shuffling stopped and with exaggerated care, Gambit withdrew a card. He offered it to her face down. Taking it, she flipped it over. Queen of Hearts.

"M' lucky lady," he murmured, eyes fixed on her. Rogue's gaze jumped up to his. "She be yaurs now. Your room, tonight?"

He was saying yes. She felt something tense inside her stretch, before curling up contentedly. He was saying yes. "Yeah," she said, striving for casualness.

He brushed by her, continuing up the stairs, and she felt her face flare as she felt the very tips of his fingers skim her as he replaced his deck. She stood there for a few minutes after he'd left.

"Yeah, I'll be there."

* * *

Hmm, I was just thinking, in 'Cajun Spice' it's Remy who uses Rogue – I've just reversed the canon. With some minor fun adjustments :smirk:.

Oh, just as a note: when sitting down, I realized I kinda need to use some comic cannon – how she absorbs Cody through a kiss. It'll be important later, also to compound the trauma Xavier talked about. Also for Gambit, I've unfortunately not seen him that much in Evo, so actually his character will most likely be a cross between Evo and the comics. (And the goatee is out, at least for this chapter. Didn't even remember about that 'til I was done with a description section).


	2. If

Thank to all my reviewers!  
-shadowkeepre, gambit-rogue, thesupernugget, gambit-luvs-me, sara, fattywantapoptart, twice the rogue, Remy'sRose (yes, no rooming with Kitty...for now), Katsu Kitsune (I love pocky!), marajade963, ishandahalf (glad to see you - love your stories! Go read her other people! And _The Ante_, freakin' amazing, right up there with Seven Sunningdale's fics – finally complete), musagirl15, ElizabethMarieBennett, Chica De Los Ojos Café, nuriiko, Retrimesuroth, and X-Storm.  
To Loralee X5-214, **Remy's perspective will come in, but in about seven chapters** (I've actually chapter organized this fic, my first time and a pretty good guarantee updates will be fairly regular). Actually this part's pure Rogue and then there'll be a pure Remy section.  
Um, Rubyvenus – I'm not sure what you meant in your review. I checked the chapters, but couldn't spot ever using Romy as a name. And, ah, you are aware Romy means Rogue/Remy, right?

Disclaimer...

Now onto the beginning of practice!

* * *

It Takes Two...to Practice

by Silver Nitte iz

* * *

If…

* * *

He was late.

To be fair, they hadn't actually agreed on a time. But the principle remained and as the minutes dragged on, Rogue focused on the single thought. He was late. If he wasn't taking his sweet time, she wouldn't have so much d- time to consider just what she'd gotten herself into – namely hands-on Sex Ed by none other than the King of Hearts himself. What the hell was she thinking?

He was late. It was a nice mantra, one that managed to stir up much easier to manage emotions. He was late. She glared at the door.

"Now I'd be wondering waht that door'd done t' you," his lazy voice, from a completely unexpected location, made her whirl almost all the way off the bed. As it was, she sprawled backward on the bed, facing Gambit, who'd apparently decided her balcony was a more convenient entryway and now leaned against the doorframe. "But ah'm guessing y' jus' be eagerly expectin' Gambit." He flashed startling white teeth.

"You're late." It was an almost reflexive defense and she straightened up self-consciously.

He flicked his fingers. "My apologies _chérie_." His eyes danced, scarlet especially vivid in the half-shadowed balcony background. "Didn't know we set a time."

She scowled. Yes, aggravation was the easiest solution, even if unwarranted. "And ain't yah ever heard of usin' the front door, thief?"

He smirked, finally making a move into the room. "Thought you wan'ed dis practice quiet." He shrugged deceptively casual. "Be no good to have someone ask why you be needin' Gambit so late." The widening of smirk though, made it clear to Rogue that he knew exactly what he would answer to that question. It was a good point, one that she kicked herself for overlooking. His very presence however, twisted her into enough knots as it was. She was not in the state of mind to consider such details – yet another good reason for picking the 'reformed' thief, d- him.

He paused at the side of her bed, his eyes taking their time to leisurely examining her outfit with the boldness of one who could assume their right to do so. She stiffened, the only other acceptable option to squirming, and felt her cheeks begin to tint. Already. It was going to be a long night. "Nice p.j.s," he commented, taking in the loose pajama pants and oversized long sleeve T-shirt, "but jus' between you and meh, Gambit prefer somet'ing a tad more," he cocked his head and Rogue could practically feel his eyes settle on the hidden swell under her shirt, "complimentary." He flashed his teeth when she almost crossed her arms, stopping just short when she realized that would display more than it would conceal.

"Well it ain't like yah just stepped outta a boxer ad ahither," she snapped back, instead bringing her knees up to her chest. The hypocrite; he was practically wearing the double of her own outfit, just sweatpants, a dark T-shirt and gloves. He seemed strangely out of character without his trademark duster, which even served as an accessory to his X-Men uniform, but that was beside the point. She sniffed. "Bahsides, ah need to be comfortable, not–" She made a gesture in the air and he ran his tongue behind his teeth.

"Lookin' like y' want meh to pounce on yah?" The flush settled deeper into her cheeks and she could only huff. He took the opportunity to finally settle on the bed to the right of her, daring to trace one gloved finger down the very edge of her shoulder. "Don' worry, _chérie_," his voice slipped down to a pitch that just made her want to close her eyes and lie there, "ah don' need de extra motivation." She swallowed hard.

"We need rules." She blurted it out because she couldn't just sit there, obvious sign of discomfort or not. Besides rules were good, necessary if she was going to get through this practice intact. She shifted to face him cross-legged, thus moving most of herself out of reach even as her legs almost brushed him.

Gambit raised an eyebrow, but let his hand fall back. "Dese rules not gonna suck de fun outta dis practice, are dey?" he asked indolently, leaning back on the arm closest to her.

"Gambit," she gritted out and he sighed dramatically.

"_Continuez_." He made the appropriate hand gesture.

"Rule #1: ah sahy stop, you stop. Don't wanna absorb any more of yaur gutta mind than ah absolutely gotta." Despite the fact she keenly looked for a sign that thought disturbed him, he gave away nothing, the cocky mask not faltering for a moment. If he'd had any second thoughts about agreeing to this, he was obviously not going to tell her.

"_D'accord._ Gambit prefer to corrupt y' de old-fashioned wahy ahnyway." The look he gave her, half-lidded and far too eager, she decided should be against the rules. Except the tug of warmth it stirred was far too potent for her to actually do so. She cleared her throat.

"Rule #2," her voice sounded too loud even to her and she mentally winced. "Yah come on time." His eyes rolled seemingly of their own volition.

"We make a time," he said with a hint of annoyance at the fact she was still harping on his supposed lateness. "I'll be there."

She kept going. "Rule #3: When practice is ova, yau're outta here. No sleepovas." He gave the briefest nod, showing signs of boredom already, and Rogue couldn't help feeling that was a rule she hadn't had to make. "Rule #4: nothing that happens here-"

"Goes out dere," he finished in a dull tone. "T'ought we already covered dat." He straightened up, flexing his fingers. "Ya know what I t'ink? I t'ink de _chérie_ be stallin'."

She harshly denied the accusation, or at least she would've if he hadn't taken the opportunity to fiddle with the collar of her T-shirt, dangerously close to her skin. She had to clamp her jaw as his fingers took a detour to trace a non-existent bra strap, knowing any attempt at speech would be a stutter. It was ironic perhaps, that this was another reason she'd picked him. He knew what she could do; he'd even experienced it – even if she had no recollection of doing it. Yet somehow, for some reason, he had no hesitation at all at touching her. Unfortunate that that self-same propensity for grabbiness turned her mind to mush.

His voice dropped again, dipped in honey. "How 'bout weh make up de rest of de rules along de way?" The huskiness made her lose track of his proximity, so that she almost jumped out of her skin when she realized he was a breath away, literally. It was then that a smell came to the rescue.

"No smoking!" He blinked and she felt a moment of gratitude at the momentary slip of surprise. It helped her regain composure much quicker. "No smoking if you want to get near me." He rolled his eyes, but didn't budge from his position leaning over her lap.

"How 'bout after?"

She blinked. "Whadda ah care? Long as it ain't by me." She watched as his lips curved into that d-ed smirk, seeing a shade of humor behind it that hinted there was a joke there that she didn't get. He seemed to let it go though, in favor of falling back to lounge against her headboard, though keeping his knees by hers.

"We done with rules f' now?" Surprised by his sudden retreat, she nodded, ignoring the tiny pang of disappointment and conceding to the logic of making the rules up as issues came up. It was harder to get boxed in a corner if she could change the boundaries at any time. He cocked his head and she couldn't help but notice from the corner of her eye what seemed to be an aborted reach for his sweatpants. Reaching for his cards perhaps? "Maybe dis be de time for Gambit to ask some questions den?" She blinked again and frowned.

"Questions?"

Up came the hands and she had to wonder if he always talked so much with his hands. Of course, that led to thoughts of the benefits of such a habit and she speedily de-railed that train of thought to listen to his answer. It was far too soon to think about that anyway. "De manor, it be good at passin' along de essentials, but de specifics-" he let it hang there and made a tisking sound. "dey don't pass on so good."

"English Cajun."

He sighed with dramatic exasperation. "Your other practices, _chérie_, how do dey work?"

It was a good question and one she'd been planning to address, if a certain someone hadn't completely distracted her with his stupid gravelly voice and stupid touch-feelyness. "Well, first ah need to get calm and comfortable, so ah don't absorb." Unconsciously she began to go through the superficial motions, regulating her breathing and such, to get into such a state. She glanced at Gambit, unsurprised to see him watching with obvious intent. "Then ah touch them or they touch me. Thay're different, ya know. Doin' the touchin' or bein' touched are two very different thangs. Ah practice them separate." Maybe he'd stop touching her all the damn time and screwing with her head.

He nodded almost absently, frowning slightly. "Soun's very," he paused, brow wrinkling as he searched for a word. "Deliberate." The frown stayed, noting for once his gilded tongue had failed him.

Rogue could guess at the complaint and she tensed her jaw, mentally willing herself to understand why it would seem so artificial to him, Mr. 'I touch whenever I damn well feel like it.' "Well yeah," she said, with a hard edge that gave the last word a 'duh' feeling. "Can't manage unexpected touch that well. Ya know how powers work in the beginnin'. They cue if yah scared or excited or whateva. Mah powers got messed up when ah first absorbed and now thay're ahlways on as a defense. Ah need to disarm it ta touch." It was the neatest explanation she could give and she reflected on the oddness that he was the first she'd explained it to. During practice, Mr. McCoy and Professor Xavier had taken care of giving the details. She paused to check Gambit was following her. Still lounging back, he was regarding her intently and it took her a moment to ponder the surprisingly open expression on his face. Sympathy? Pity? She hurried on, not wanting to deal with either emotion the two possibilities produced. "The professor thinks if ah practice enough, get comfortable enough with touchin', the default settin' could change."

"Dis be where I come in, _non_?" His face had rearranged into a reassuring arrogance touched with insinuation and he slanted a leer at her that practically brimmed with possibilities. Even as her cheeks heated up, ironically, she felt something inside her relax. A cocky, perverted Gambit was far easier to deal with than an actually sensitive one. Even more ironic, considering that was what she really needed. "So what exactly do yah want to do wit' dis Gambit?" He angled his right leg and gestured expansively, opening himself up to her. But she could guess the answer he was fishing for and she wasn't giving it again, even if the sight of him was making her understand romance novels' talk of sexual magnetism a whole lot better. He made her want to practice.

She avoided a direct answer, instead ticking off on her fingers. "Well ah practice with Logan, who's practically the whole mana's kick-ass big brotha, Kurt, who's practically mah annoying little brotha, and Kitty-" Gambit's eyes literally flared in interest and she mentally groaned. Men. "Don' even think it Gambit," she ground out.

His eyes widened in mock innocence. "T'ink what, _chérie_?" His lips seemed unable to keep from curving into a smirk. "Now, now, Roguey wouldn't happen to be havin' dirty t'oughts, would she?"

She ignored the question, instead growling, "Don't call me Roguey." He smirked sweetly and she decided to just skip the tangent. Besides, she knew how guys worked in this sense. You made a fuss over it and they would just keep doing it, just for the reaction. It was bad enough to be stuck with _chérie. _"Ahnway, practicing with them ain't gonna help me prepare for havin' a boyfriend." She leveled a finger at him. "An' that's where you come in." He gave a little sniff of acknowledgement, before straightening up.

"So how far y' get?" In context, it was apparently innocent. But nevertheless, she felt tendrils of embarrassment spread, unable to decide if it was his blatant sexual charisma or simply her own anticipation that made it far from it. She couldn't meet his eyes.

"Uh, hands, arms, face."

He raised an eyebrow. "Got a ways to go ta be boyfriend-friendly." She glowered at the bluntly honest response, but was quickly distracted when his hands went to the bottom of his shirt. She didn't really comprehend why until the shirt was over his head, pulled in a single, sinuous motion.

"Too fast!" It came out in an embarrassing squeak and Rogue skipped at least three shades of red for the current one she exhibited. But the shirt was already shucked and he had the gall to tisk, unphased by his now exhibited bare chest. She was not about to be an appreciative audience and rebelliously, to him and her own hormones, she focused on his face.

"We do have a deadline, _chérie_," he reminded her in a light voice. "That leg ain't gonna stay broken foreva. Ah figure wit' simple fracture," he paused as if considering, though she knew he'd come with everything figured out, "month tops?"

She ignored the rational argument for blind embarrassment. "Too, fast. Ah need to be comfortable for my mutation to switch off, remember? Or are yah that anxious to be drained?" she snapped, hoping the reminder of what she could do might phase him, even the slightest bit.

He shrugged. "De only way to get comfortable is practice," he stressed the last syllable, throwing back the whole reason she'd proposed this arrangement in the first place. He settled back, splaying himself out against her pillows to make a sight that was even more tantalizing than before. Not to mention making it that much harder to keep arguing.

She sputtered. "It, it has to be more gradual than this." Traitorously, her eyes drifted downward, before she snapped them back up. Thankfully, Gambit didn't notice her slip, making a show of sighing and acquiescence.

"Fine, keep yah gloves on."

That removed her most obvious reason for concern, but not the other one – namely, his bare chest. She told herself she was not looking, even as she made full use of her periphery eyesight. "How 'bout the shirt?" It was a vain last ditch effort, her resistance beginning to flag as well. If he wasn't embarrassed, couldn't she not be too?

She could tell her reluctance was amusing him, but he still played up exasperation. "You've touched guys before, _non_?" For the briefest moment she wondered if it was an actual question, but he went on with that little knowing quirk of his lips. "Don' wanna start all de way from scratch."

"Not really outside of missions or combat," she tried to keep the admittance casual, though still steeped in annoyance. "And this ain't the Danger Room."

She should've predicted the smirk that unfolded as he settled down further, forcing her eyes to run along his now more horizontal than vertical form. "Ain't gonna have no fun with that kinda attitude."

"Shut up Gambit." It wasn't the right response, but it was an old back-up. Something reflexive that didn't require the attention that was now directed towards the well-toned chest she was being invited to touch.

He stretched cat-like, forcing her to appreciate the fact muscles flexing can actually be quite, impressive. "You plannin' on wasting the whole night arguing?" he asked idly, though he had to be aware she was past resisting. "Dere be funnier things _chérie_." His voice dropped down that octave and curled around her, much as the insinuation in his lidded eyes, "Be more than glad to show you." A shiver went down her spine and she desperately grabbed for some defense, even as she moved to be beside him.

"Conceited, reckless, arrogant, vain," she mumbled each word half to herself and half to him, angling herself in a position to be able to touch him comfortably. In his present position, the best place would be straddling him, but there was no way in hell that was happening. So she came from the side, glad it would at least make disassociating who she was touching easier. "Perverted, skirt-chasing, tramp, swamp rat-"

That was as far as he tolerated without interrupting. "Don' be such a sourpuss, river rat." Registering the nickname, she swiveled to glare at him. Inches away, he smiled smugly. "We both be rats, _chere_. Two of a kind." His eyes flared up and his lips were too close and she decided his chest was the better option.

A guy's bare chest really wasn't a novelty to her – pool days, T.V. and a good number of basketball games of skins vs. shirts had ensured that. But usually, none of those situations warranted close study, let alone a hands-on approach. Tentatively she placed a gloved hand on his abdomen, flush still in place. She only used one, letting the other support her in her slightly tenuous position stretched over him.

As much as she hated to admit it, Gambit was hardly hard on the eyes. Beyond a general attractive roguish look, he was also a hottie, as most of the girls in the Manor would attest to. Almost all of the X-Men guys were in good shape, thanks to Logan's harsh training regiment and Scott's devotion to and insistence on Danger Room sessions. But few had the definition of Gambit's six-pack, undoubtedly the result of years of rigorous training for less-than-legal activities. She lightly traced down the creases, embarrassment giving way to a genuine sense of interest. Even in his half-reclined pose, his stomach was still tight, still firm under the light pressure of her wandering fingers. She turned back when she came to the taper of his waist, wishing at least for the moment to keep this as platonic as possible.

She was surprised by how, compact he was. He always seemed so lanky, sprawling and lounging every which way, all legs and arms, pulling acrobatic stunts in the Danger Room that were second only to Kurt or Wolverine on a good day. But he was quite solid, she mused as she slowly made her way up to the pectorals. Not bulky in the sense of Duncan or the average football player, but solidly compact in a way that provided an excellent base for his still lanky arms. She struck by the contradiction: solid, yet slim and wiry. She supposed it made sense, given his considerable upper body strength, the muscle compacted in the space it had.

She stroked the skin lightly. Clinical interest aside, she couldn't help a certain other curiosity, one that had haunted her even before her mutation had activated. Tactile. What would it be like to actually touch him? She bit her lip, finally daring to let her eyes wander up to his face.

Gambit's face was surprisingly vacant of the conceit and smugness she would've bet money would be there. Instead, he had withdrawn to that odd blank face, with only his eyes strange, the contrast of red and black somehow less harsh than she'd ever seen. It served to make some strange expression that she barely dared to decipher. Like he was actually seeing her for the first time.

"Now, de gloves off." His voice rumbled in a range that huskier than the moment really warranted, but she wasn't about to criticize. The very fact she didn't argue, only glared, spoke volumes.

"Yes, _cher_," she mocked, lacking the vehemence of her normal bite. Instead of retreating to do it, as she normally did – putting space between her and her opponent before revealing her weapon, she stayed put, tugging the glove off in a smooth practiced manner achingly close to him. But not close enough, not yet.

Her hand was literally an inch away when nerves finally hit. Uneasily she wet her lips. She could do this; she'd done it before. She'd touched Logan, Kurt, Kitty – except he wasn't them and it wasn't the same. She closed her eyes, focusing on her breathing. Breath in. Hold. Breathe out. Natural. Fundamental. Unconscious, but able to be controlled. Eyes still closed, she gently let her hand come to a rest on him.

Warmth was the first thing that registered. It never ceased to a trill of wonder through her. Since the advent of her 'skin problem', she'd become accustomed to clothed touch, usually brief and insensate. Of all the sensations touch involved, that feeling of warmth, experiencing the heat of someone else who lived – sharing it with them, was the most marvelous in her mind. Then came texture, soft and smooth. Movement, the even sensation of rising and falling as he breathed like she, in and out.

She was just opening her eyes when he shifted unexpectedly. And just like that, in the moment between blindness and sight, her control slipped.

The oddest part of absorption, in Rogue's mind, was that first moment when she had the unmistakable sense of both touching and being touched. Conscious of both, at the same time, from two different bodies, two different minds.

She jerked away immediately and he gave a sharp inhalation, as if she'd ripped skin away instead of a sliver of his mind. She started to back up, the fact this was a bad idea settling down deep. "I shouldn't – 'm sorry Remy, dis be a bad-"

His gloved hand shot to her wrist, stopping her retreat. He met her gaze evenly. "Nothin' I didn't already expect _chérie_," he soothed, his voice not showing a sign of the sudden shock she must've given him. The crimson iris, so uniquely compelling, brightened fractionally. "Ah knew what I was gettin' into Rogue," his voice was low, intimate and she despaired.

No, he really didn't.

But already he was angling her hand, getting her back into position. "Now breath _chérie _and try 'gain." Her eyes fluttered shut to steady her nerves and he clicked his tongue. "Eyes open. Want you t' know what yah getting into," he threw the words at her again, making her wonder if but for a moment at the undercurrent. But she had other concerns.

Her hand again came to rest on him, the tension slowly bleeding out of her. She breathed and he let go of his loose grip.

He was warm, warmer than the others she'd touched and she vaguely wondered why. Perhaps being so close to the heart… She touched him delicately, skimming rather than groping his chest. And yet she felt so much – the light sheen of hair that was practically invisible, the minute ridges and creases of his skin that shifted as he breathed, and inevitably, the paler lines of scars accumulated over time and space. She traced a strangely hooked shape along his right side and wondered… But she didn't dare ask. Gambit was not one who answered questions that he did not invite and even then, he'd evade. Like why he'd kept his gloves on, yet ditched the shirt without prompting. Strange, but something he was unlikely to explain.

And finally she came up to his heart. It took a little to locate, but she rested her hand there. It was amazing. She could feel it beating, the sign of life working smoothly and without interruption, radiating heat. Power. Might.

Thump.

Thump.

Simply amazing.

With all due caution, she felt him shift in gradual warning and reach for her wrist again, deftly stroking it gently instead of holding it. "You eva listened to a heartbeat?" It was barely a whisper and later she would wonder if he'd even said it all. Perhaps she imagined it.

But she didn't respond anyway. At least, not in words. Instead, with infinite care, she twisted to allow her head to rest on his chest, right over his heart. Her eyes shut and she concentrated on what she could feel. Warmth. Thump. Smooth against her cheek. Dip. Rise. Thump.

She couldn't tell if she slept. If she did, it was dreamless and deep and she slipped into it as easily as she slipped out dazed and when the man beneath her caressed her wrist, she wasn't startled.

"T'ink time's up _chérie_," he murmured quietly and she lifted her head up. Later, she would be embarrassed and incredibly self-conscious about what she'd done. Later. At the moment, she felt only a detached sense of lethargy, the kind that came after a really good rest or really good workout. "Wouldn't do to break the rules de first night." There was a trace of mockery in his tone, but she didn't feel up to commenting on it. He rose from the bed, collecting and donning his shirt in his swift and efficient way. He paused, before moving to the balcony door. "Besides," he murmured, his face strangely thoughtful as he fingered the doorframe. "Gotta plan." And he was gone.

She wasn't so out of it that she could not feel the slight jolt of anticipation that instigated.


	3. At First

Thanks to all my lovely reviewers!  
SouthernLoner, laenamoradadeGAMBIT, MidniteAngelGoth (so 'clean clean'? -sweatdrop- hope that's a compliment), Lady Dragon, emma134, ROMY3, Katsu Kitsune (pocky and a kitten? spoiling me...), thesupernugget, CheshireCat (the leg has to do with Kitty's broken leg - thus no roommate), X-Storm, jr forever, nuriiko (I love your description of Remy: "the egoistical man who only love women for being, well, women of course!"), BloodChildOf Hate, Chica De Los Ojos Cafe (liked your latest fic; the accents were great!), Secret Agent Smut Girl, musagirl15, fattywantapoptart, ishandahalf (loved your analysis!), RG Marie, Remy'sRose (this enough touching for now?), and ElizabethMarieBennett ('m guessing that has to do with Pride & Prejudice? I love that book! –and the movies).

Oh my goodness!! I just saw the second part of Day of Reckoning i.e. Gambit and Rogue's first meeting, and oh my goodness!! The chemistry was incredible!! And it wasn't all my imagination!! Hate that they lost the duster (where the heck is he supposed to pull all these cards from?) and he seemed to have white corneas (still confused about that little point – he'd like just have black eyes with a ring of red, not a real _Diable Blanc_ then), but definitely charm ability! Rogue practically swoons when she sees him and with the way he was moving into her, I thought he was going in for a kiss for a moment! (melts into a pile of Romy goo) Imagine that!  
But definitely inspired by that, so here's the next part. It's funny – it came out a bit more intimate than I planned, but I am really happy with this chapter. There is some Kitty p.o.v. but I like writing outsider views, so there may continue to be some veering from purely Rogue p.o.v. Other bit of foretelling: further chapters will cover more time.  
--Oh and **poll**: What should his **X-Men uniform** look like? If anyone knows good sketches posted, send me the links!

* * *

It Takes Two...to Practice

by Silver Nitte iz

* * *

…At first…

* * *

"Rogue!"

Even stuck in bed with a broken leg and hard cast, Kitty managed to sound perky. Rogue had to shake her head at the phenomenon, but it was tempered with a tug of gladness. At least she was keeping her spirits up.

"Hey Kitty." She smiled as the girl wiggled into a better sitting position. At the moment she was propped against her headboard, of course cushioned by pillows, with her left leg also elevated. "How yah doing today?"

"Oh I'm fine. My leg doesn't hurt or anything." Kitty blew a wisp of hair out of her face. "I'm just bored. There's like nothing to do! Especially 'cuz I'm supposed to keep off my leg and everything."

Rogue nodded sympathetically. "Ah know ah'd go stir-crazy if ah was stuck like yah."

"Gee thanks," Kitty muttered, half-heartedly bitter. She then brightened. "But at least I've been getting lots of visitors. Just about everyone in the Mansion's dropped by. Kurt pops in randomly, probably because it takes like no time for him to get here. He even brought me something when he raided the fridge last night." She wrinkled her nose. "I have to get him to bring me a closed thing of ice cream though-"

"'cuz food just ain't made to easily jus' go through dimensions." She shared a completely empathetic look with the bed-ridden teen.

"And the smell." Kitty shook her head, making a face. "Nothing tastes right."

"Poor baby. Anyway, ah'm surprised nobody's brought yah any video games or movies." She motioned to the T.V. against the wall by the door. "If there ain't anythang on, lahke usual."

Kitty shook her head. "It still isn't hooked up. The Professor said someone would fix it up soon, but unless I ask Forge," there was a mutual wince at the possibilities there, "I don't think it's going to happen. Logan, who's probably supposed to do it, said 'it'll just rot your brain, half-pint'." Her attempt at his gravely voice was terrible and Rogue had to bite her lip. "So no help there. But hey," she reached over to her night table, "at least I have cards!"

There was a slight sarcasm to the words, not that Rogue noticed. Instead her stomach performed a sudden twisting motion that'd make it a good contestant for a dance contest. She recognized that brand. With the way Gambit ran through cards, one would think he'd just pick up a pack anywhere he could and stockpile them. Instead, he seemed to buy them in bulk – she'd only seen him veer from his normal brand once and that was during a DR session that required using whatever objects were at hand in an everyday room. Typically, Gambit had managed to find a deck of cards from among the pile of napkins, utensils, cleaning supplies, and writing implements they'd scrounged up.

Rogue swallowed, trying not conjure the whole other new set of associations he was now connected with starting with last night. "Ah take it those are compliments of a certain Cajun livin' here?" She wasn't sure how well she played nonchalance, but Kitty didn't seem to notice.

She nodded. "Yeah, Remy was nice enough to drop them off." Although she stressed the name, she didn't bother complaining on how Rogue refused to call him by name. In the three months he'd been around, they'd had the conversation more than once. Rogue would call him what she liked – and he stuck to _chérie_, something Kitty was privately pretty sure was some kind of retaliatory action, considering how annoyed it made Rogue. Then again, he barely called anyone by their real name, so maybe she was overthinking it. "He even offered to play with me sometime."

Rogue's teeth went on edge. "Oh I'm just sure," she muttered under her breath, turning away to fiddle with the jewelry box on Kitty's bureau. After nearly half a week, the bureau was littered with various knick-knacks lending the room an almost homey feel. Shelving her scorn, she asked, "So how is livin' with the ex-Acolytes?"

In part because they were older, and perhaps because of their background, both Piotr and Remy lived in their own small alcove with the few guest bedrooms the Manor held. Since the location was on the ground floor, it was to this section Kitty had been relocated.

The phase changer shrugged. "It's fine. They stop by every once and a while, but I don't see them too much. Just y'know," her cheeks traitorously began to tint, "have to share the bathroom and everything."

Rogue compressed her lips. "Must be terrible," she said wryly, darting a look back at her former roommate. "Seein' Piotr just out of the showa-"

"Rogue!" Kitty couldn't help a giggle, but after a moment confessed, "Well, it's not like he comes out half-dressed or anything." Rogue tutted and Kitty blushed deeper. Given her on and off again relationship with Lance, she had reserved Piotr as crush material, but one she wasn't about to act on. At least, not yet. "Remy on the other hand…" she went on leadingly.

Rogue was glad to be turned away as she felt her own cheeks inevitably stain. She had a lot more to blush about though. "Ah'm sure he ain't that impressive," she scoffed, ignoring the little voice mocking her inside. It was the glint of burning red in the mirror that warned her that wasn't the only person mocking her.

"Bite yaur tongue, _chérie_," he murmured saucily, leaning in the previously empty doorway. "Or I'll star' t'inkin' you want ta judge f' yahself." His voice was rich with innuendo, the details flashing in his dancing eyes as if he knew her real opinion. She felt herself blush harder, but she turned around anyway.

"Well, whattaya know, speak of the devil an' here he is." Gambit let the insult roll off him with characteristic ease.

"Wun't want t' disappoint," he said with a shrug, lifting a hand to tug at his other glove. "Just let meh know when y' want dat demonstration-"

The fact she'd sorta asked for it already burned and she couldn't help her ensuing venom. "Please swamp rat, like ah-"

Her heated response was cut off by Kitty. "Ah Remy, thanks for stopping by!" She threw a glare at Rogue who rolled her eyes, crossed her arms and gave a huff in a single coordinated sequence that she'd perfected. Gambit smirked at that, letting his eyes trail in an unmistakable entitled look. Before she could call him on it, his gaze shifted.

"Always a pleasure, _petite_. How's de leg?" He gave a nod in her direction, still hanging in the doorway.

"Fine. Don't feel a thing." She gave a light rap to the cast and he nodded, eyes lighting on what she was holding in the other hand.

"Fina'ly gonna make use of dose?" Kitty blinked, looking at the cards herself.

"Ah, maybe. If Rogue'll play something." Rogue had to grit her teeth as the suggestion conjured a leer on Gambit's face.

"Don' t'ink dat'd be too hard t' arrange." His fingers flexed. "Matter a fact, Gambit'd be more dan happy ta make it a threesome." This time Rogue's eyes practically flared.

"Yah got some nerve, swamp rat," she threw at him. "Yah can just-"

"Where are you headed Remy?" Again Kitty interceded, sensing a rather vulgar explicit description of just what exactly Gambit could do upcoming. The Goth scowled at the second interruption. "I'm assuming you just dropped in for a moment?" As much as she thought he was cool, Rogue was still the closest thing she had to a best friend. She didn't want the visit cut too short.

Eyes never leaving Rogue, he nodded. "On m' way out," he said in his usual, infuriatingly vague way. "Hope y' two have a nahce visit." Turning, he gave Rogue a wink as he lifted a casual hand to wave. "See yah lata."

Rogue's jaw was so tight she felt about to break a tooth. "Asshole," she muttered under her breath.

Kitty, though not hearing the last insult, shook her head. "Rogue! It wouldn't kill you to be nice. He's one of us now." Rogue audibly scoffed. Kitty frowned at the dismissive gesture, but let it go in favor of something she'd been wondering. "But hey, when'd you start calling him swamp rat?"

Rogue froze.

Kitty sighed. "I feel like I'm missing everything!" she said exasperated, hitting the bed with both fists. "Fill me in?"

Rogue really hated him.

* * *

"Yau're late," she snapped, glowering at the shadowed figure on her balcony. Even in the shadows, she could see him roll the glowing embers that he called eyes as he slipped through the door. She didn't respond; it was only the first of her complaints.

"Said if weh set a time-" He said it with tried patience, humoring her, and her blood boiled.

"Eleven." It was clipped and left no room for argument. "Now, what the hell was that little scene with Kitty?"

He paused. "De kit-kat?"

"No, my other ex-roommate," she shot back sarcastically. He quirked an eyebrow, leaning back on the doorframe. Even with his show of casualness, apparently he had enough common sense to not get too close in her present distemper.

"You been roomin' wit' others, _chérie_, an' didn't invite meh?" He placed a gloved hand over heart. "'m hurt."

"Oh grow up Gambit," she growled, before grounding out her complaint. "Yah can't be flirtin' with meh like that, sleazy." She wasn't really sure why it had upset her so much. Probably because she was now second guessing the ability of keeping this secret. Any little slip and it'd be through the Manor faster than Pietro. Or her upset could do with the fact every time she now snapped at him for his lewdness, it had to be tempered with the fact that at least in some respect she was quite literally asking for it. It was hard to fall back into her dismissive scorn with their practice in mind. Not that she was going to admit any of that to him. "Thought thieves were supposed ta know how to keep a low profile." Seated cross legged on the bed, arms folded, she glared him down.

"Gambit be like dat wit' all _des filles_, _mon_ _chérie_," he shrugged. "Dat be a reason yeh picked _moi_,_ non_?" Because he was such a player and flirted with anything in a skirt. Right. Still, he'd been unreasonably intense this morning. Hadn't he? She felt the first stirrings of uncertainty. "And Remy can't help dat you be such a good target, specia'ly when y' get riled so easy. Maybe it be yau who needs more self control." His lips widened into a leer and she felt her cheeks flush in self consciousness at the pointed comment. But who the heck was he to talk about self control anyway?

"Oh shut up." The ineloquent retort obviously served as a signal it was safe to approach and he approached the bed, or more correctly, her.

"Now y' gonna spit more fire," he asked wryly, towering over her, "or we gonna get down to business?" The last word was punctuated by his gloved pointer trailing down her chin to her covered cleavage. She couldn't help a shiver, but inwardly frowned at the term. Business? Was that what he saw this was? She wasn't sure she cared to ask. Instead, she let her eyes close halfway, peering at him from a shuttered position.

"Yah said yah were gonna plan?" she asked warily, trying her best to ignore the distracting little frissons his touch had incited.

He let out a low laugh that was definitely far too close to her as the sound nearly vibrated through her. She swallowed, now trying not to imagine what it would feel like to be on him like last night and make that sound. "De _chérie _not like surprises?" he asked with an intimacy that was simply too, close.

"No," she said shortly, swiveling on the bed to face the headboard. She motioned for him to sit and after a small head cock, he acquiesced, collapsing on the bed in that boneless way that made her wonder just how dang flexible he really was. "Now what's this plan?" She emphasized the last word, not caring how bossy she was coming across, just glad to be regaining control. "Let's see yah hand, swamp rat." Her lips quirked at her own attempt at a joke.

"But weh haven't even started playin' yet," he pouted as his voice went down a timber, throwing her a lidded seductive look.

"Afta," she dismissed, ignoring the blush that arose at her own casualness. The pout held for another moment before dissolving into a more serious look. He inched back to sprawl against her headboard. She raised an eyebrow. He had that composed quality that made her flash to Scott about to lecture. It was a connection beyond odd.

"Well, it seems to Gambit yah wantin' to deal wit' jus' plain touchin' but parts y' not used to," his eyes pointedly skimmed her with that hint of indecency that he simply exuded. She forced herself not to roll her eyes. Never mind, definitely not like Scott. "Bu' y' want a boyfriend an' dat ain't really gonna cut it."

She blinked. "What?"

His fingers flexed and absently, she wondered if he was wishing for a cigarette or his cards. He seemed addicted to both. "Yah said y' can't really deal wit' unplanned touch."

"So?" Point not relayed.

He shook his head, the heat in his gaze tempered with unmistakable exasperation. "_Chérie _if yah t'ink dat y' can ge' hot 'n' heavy wit' someone wit' only "planned" touch," he didn't need to make the quote marks as his tone was clear enough to get his point across, "yah need a better imagination. And t' watch more T.V.," he added with surprisingly deadpan humor.

She wanted to scoff at him, she really did, except, d- him, he could have a point. But she managed a small snort nonetheless, tossing her hair as she looked to the side. "All ah need is a non-grabby boyfriend."

"But dat be de best part." He was all wide eyes and innocence and splayed hands, and she couldn't help rolling her own. He didn't hold the pose long, the smirk inching over his lips as he leaned forward. "Behsides, y' just beggin' ta be touched."

She batted away his hand with a sneer. "That's just because yah got sticky fingers," when he grinned unrepentantly, she added sourly, "not to mention yah can't resist a challenge." The last part came out with more bitterness than she expected, let alone wished. He paused for the barest moment and she wondered vaguely if he really did have empathetic abilities as they locked eyes.

"'s good t'ing, _non_? Otherwise, I might not be de _homme_ y' picked t' practice wit'." His tone was light, but the undercurrent – she relaxed fractionally. He was sidestepping her accusation, but – damn him for being able to charm her. She looked away again.

"So yah want ta work on what 'xactly?" Time to move on.

"Y' need ta be comfortable bein' touched, even when it be unexpected." And sure enough, his partially gloved hand curled around her bare forearm. The brush of his fingers against her skin tingled as her mutation reacted.

She shook her head in consternation. Boy liked playing with fire. But she didn't brush away his hand. "That even possible?" she mumbled instead, a weak protest and he threw her a tolerant look.

"Thus de practice." He tapped her nose with his other hand as if to emphasize his point and she wrinkled it in reaction. They sat there for a few moments before she became ancy. Patience, after all, was not her strong suit, especially when he was around and firing her up, and given the impressions she'd gotten from him, it wasn't exactly his either.

"So this is-" she broke the silence, shifting in her seat.

Apparently Gambit wasn't the patient type. That was as far as he let her get before he just about pounced on her. (Well actually, it was more like pulling suddenly forward on her arm and taking advantage of her being unbalanced to make her practically pounce on him. But when she began to struggle, he flipped them over so him pouncing on her had some validity.)

They fumbled around the bed for another few minutes, but Gambit was well aware of her athleticism and managed to keep the upper hand, quite literally, making full use of his gangly arms and legs to lock her own.

"What the hell Gambit?" After making several attempts at speech, she finally got out the question, flushed and thoroughly entangled.

He grinned cheekily from his position on top. "Jus' a little fun, _chérie_." Fun? She wanted to scrape off that grin with something sharp. It wasn't fun, it was nerve-wracking. She'd never been so close to anyone in her entire life. "Bu' y' do need to get used t' a movin' target," his serious tone gave way to pure heat as he dipped his head even closer to hers, tattooing his words with his very breath against her cheek, "'cuz believe meh, _chérie_, when yah get goin' dere be a lot." She didn't have a prayer of stopping the shiver that went down her spine. Still -

"Too, fast," she bit out.

He shrugged, "Want time fa fun later, after all." He winked at her and her stomach twisted in all sorts of new knots at the promises of that remark. But she couldn't help but wonder; he was counting on a later?

Without loosening their intertwinement, he rolled over so she was once again on top. She flushed as their proximity let her feel the flexing of his muscles against her own as he maneuvered. Her heart felt ready to beat out of her chest for so many other reasons than exertion and she wondered if he could feel it. She thought she could feel his, a slow and steady pulse, mocking the furious tattoo of her own. But if he did, he gave no sign, instead adjusting to make her comfortably situated on him. He eased the contact between their arms, the skimming of his fingers teasing the creases of the T-shirt against her back telling her why.

"C'mon _chérie_," his voice sounded simply decadent, warm and rich – though it could be just the proximity, "rehlax." It almost seemed possible, impossible not to really, when he spoke, but then he stopped and all she could think is, 'is it even possible to be closer?' "Now I'm gonna touch you," his fingers dipped and caressed her exposed forearms, apparently ignoring the unmistakable pull of her powers. She turned her face to the side, still trying to avoid being too close to so much skin. Closing her eyes didn't help, not when she could feel him everywhere. "Y' gonna touch meh?" She swallowed hard, his mouth terrifyingly close, nestled by her ear. "Ah know yah want ta." She felt like laughing. She already felt too much.

And yet…

Her fingers hesitantly brushed the bare sides of what had to be his hips. She could practically feel his smirk at the motion, but she instead focused on the million other sensory details begging for attention. As entwined as she was with him, they were practically her world. Smell melding with taste as she breathed in raggedly, hearing it or the movement, touch that all-encompassed and overwhelmed, her eyes refusing to focus on the darkness as the other senses went on hyper alert.

They breathed almost in tandem, his chest rising a brief half-second before hers expanded in answer. She breathed in cigarette smoke – not recent, sweat, bourbon (which she could only identify thanks to Wolverine's psyche), and something indefinable – a scent she was sure to come to know as uniquely Remy's. Somewhere in the haze of her mind, she wondered if she had her own. But thoughts were hard to focus on, when he kept shifting and she felt the slightest movement reverberate and his hands wandered from her arms and back again and she could only bear to touch him with hesitation.

The tension in her body though, resisted his knowledgeable plying fingers, still tugging him in none too gently when he dared to trace the visible skin. The brush of his lips on the curve of her chin just worsened the situation and he finally gave a sigh. Moving back incrementally, he murmured, "Maybe weh should go back t'-"

The movement of his heat away from her hit hard and the word was out of her mouth before she could stop it. "No!" She knew she'd regret it later, or actually at the present as he looked at her with an eloquent raised eyebrow. But she didn't take it back. "No, I do need this. Ah want ta be able ta touch like everyone else," her frustration built, "not have ta worry about suckin' the life outta someone."

That made it so much worse. It wasn't just that she couldn't touch, but that no one could touch her without literally paying for it with their life. And so they too learned to distance from her; they developed the shadow of fear that lurked in her own eyes. The shadow that she could yet see no sign of in his eyes, black corneas and all. She wasn't sure she'd be able to bear to see it now.

He didn't respond at once and she felt a measure of surprise that he was actually seriously considering what he wanted to say. "Y' know dere's more ta touch dan skin-to-skin. Not that I'm not more dan happy t' help yah practice dis, but Gambit's been known to be rather creative," he made the second sentence light as if to make up for the seriousness of the offer. "Be glad to show yah." And somehow it ended up more kind than sleazy. She was touched, for about a second.

She shook her head, frustrated. "Ah don't want that," the 'to have to' left unspoken but really unnecessary, "ah want to be –"

"Normal?" He craned back even more to more fully address her. "Hate t' break this t' yah, but yeh ain't eva gonna be normal." It was the first time someone, not an enemy, had bluntly told her exactly what she'd said bitingly far too many times and she couldn't face it. She shoved him away and he allowed her to untangle herself, reclining backward. It didn't stop him from adding, "Might as well embrace it."

"Like yah, Mr. 'I-Wear-Sunglasses-Inside'," she mocked spitefully, curling up with her knees to her chest protectively. Except he usually didn't wear them in the Manor and only sometimes when he went out. They sat in silence when he refused to take the bait.

There was a point there, possibilities she'd refused to contemplate, not that she was so ready to give up her attempts to touch freely…

She hated the fact he had points.

She sighed and ran a hand through her hair. He didn't move, just looked at her with that infuriating nonchalance. She sighed again, almost more to clear her reluctance, and uncurled to settle on him again. Easily reading the surprised coiling of his muscles, in far contrast to the liquid give of before, she tilted her head to meet his eyes. The closeness made her spine prickle, but she refused to stiffen. It was time for her to make a point, d- it. "What?" she asked pointedly, raising her own eyebrow in imitation. "You bail everytahme the goin' gets tough?" There was a crack just begging to be made about his defection from Magneto and missing the Apocalypse, but she resisted it, instead choosing to study his face.

That strange look was back, face unreadable with his eyes vivid. "Not eve'ytahme," he murmured huskily. And when he gently nestled his face against hers, practically nose to nose, she found she could barely breathe.

* * *

In the end, she realized telling him off had been unnecessary. He betrayed nothing of their intimacy around others. He simply acted the same with her as with the other girls, even if seemed more intense to her. Maybe because she didn't just giggle when he drawled out those idiotic lines.

She wouldn't admit to the slightest twinge of disappointment at the fact.


	4. You Don't

Thanks to all my lovely reviewers! Hope yah like dis chapter!! –lascivious grin-

-Demon Flame, Rogue181, Catra, thesupernugget (LOL), GoldFox (touch is a primal need and Rogue is so starved for it...), Peanutbutter1, Katsu Kitsune (LOL!!), Danielle Britton (blush at compliments!), marajade963, ElizabethMarieBennett (ooh, wait and see!), Captain Annie (thanks for the hook compliment - I love my little intro!), Freak87 (thank you so much and I know what you mean, practice should be more written about, so many lovely possibilities :grin:), PsYcHoThErApY17, Ayame 125 (the accents are important to character and I've actually seen them thicker), X-Storm, CheshireCat, gambit-rogue, BloodChildOfHate, ROMY Lover, musagirl15, Deathgirl997, Remy'sRose, ishandahalf, nuriiko, SouthernLoner, Chica De Los Ojos Café.

And to untouchablegoth - thank you so much for the long review and offers of help. I may yet take you up on that. Other characters will show up to a greater degree coming up.

* * *

Okay, I was thinking I should recommend the who's who's of the Romy world, since I kinda started to responding to one person in a previous chapter.  
Just about anything by: ishandahalf, Eileen Blazer, Seven Sunningdale (incredible fics if long), Prexistence & dreamer's dawn (some dark), Randirogue, Some Scribbles and Solitare E.

Also, good Movie Romy fics are kinda hard to find so here are some amazing ones:

Broken Road by Anamarie Chambers (unbelievable)  
SHAMELESS by BethyBathory (a riot)  
Gambling by BelleDayNight (another riot but with greater scope)  
I'm Not Myself by AJ10 (awesome and soooo underappreciated)  
What Might Have Been (I know it's a fic…but I just couldn't find it again, annoying considering I re-read it like two weeks ago, grrr…)  
The Flirt and the Untouchable by Caliente (and the sequel!)

And on with the chapter! Whew, these chapters are getting longer!

* * *

It Takes Two...to Practice

by Silver Nitte iz

* * *

…You don't…

* * *

With the next few practices, they started to slip into something tentatively routine.

During the day: sharp retorts, merciless flirting on his part, complete shut-downs on hers.

If he flustered her more now, no one remarked on it. If he said something more heated than it deserved, no one seemed to pick up on it. And so, back and forth they went.

During the night, they came together in a much different way. Not that the flirting and sharp barbed comments weren't still present, but context was everything.

"Yah ain't that good looking," just didn't come out the same way when Rogue had to say it breathily from a position way too close to straddling him during one of their 'cuddle' times.

After the second practice, they'd compromised. One part of the practice would be intentional touching, like in her other practices, but the other would be spontaneous, a mish-mash of limbs, teasing touches, and almost-ridiculously flirtatious banter. He liked to surprise her, push her, challenge her to try, tolerate, touch what she never had before. Cajoling her and coaxing her every step, she was slowly getting used to, well him, if not actual touching.

Still, Rogue was doing more tactile exploration than she had done, well, ever. Gambit was quick to remark on it, especially on the fact she was getting to touch a lot more than he was. So far, he'd managed to talk her down to a tank top, but no further. He'd ventured a few fingers under it during their 'cuddle' times, but she was adamant on not stripping further. Not yet. And now matter how much he pouted, there was a big difference between being bare-chested as a guy and being bare-chested as a girl.

It was also harder to relax when it was him touching her. Even when forewarned, it was unnerving, sending tendrils of sensation that felt too warm, too close, too invasive. After so much time covered up, she was practically over-sensitive to the slightest bare touch. It made her stiffen defensively, provoking her mutation rather than calming it.

Remy tisked softly, angled at her side to practically loom over her. He ran a finger down her wide tank strap and leaned closer.

"Y' gonna need ta relax if ah'm gonna get anywhere wit' you, _chérie_," his voice was a husky rumble, layered with enough insinuation and allure to stir a warmth deep down. Unfortunately, that merely triggered her to tense further. She flushed and looked away from him.

"Ah'm tryin' Gambit."

"No y' ain't." It took her a second to realize he'd directly contradicted her. She turned back, eyes flashing green fury.

"Yes Ah am!" she snapped. "Ah'm tryin' as hard as ah can and you have the gaul ta-"

He ran a gloved finger right above her cleavage and her mouth shut with an almost audible snap.

"_Chérie_, what y' be doin' righ' now ain't tryin' ta relax. It be tryin' as hard as hell ta resist meh."

Her mouth opened and closed. She swallowed. "Resist you?" she echoed weakly.

"De feelin's y' get from mah touch," he murmured, now fiddling with her other tank top strap. "Yah gotta let yourself go ta it."

"You know ah can't do that!" she tried to snap, but it came out without enough bite. "Ah gotta stay calm and focused, not-"

"Excited?" She hated that he could say it so matter-of-factly, when just the thought made her flush. "Dis ain't calm _chere_." He drummed his fingers against taunt muscles, displaying his point. "Dis is tense." He sighed. He leaned forward, but the tousling of his bangs over his forehead made the movement seem more boyish than seductive. He matched the image with a softening of his tone. "Yah supposed t' enjoy dis Rogue. It ain't supposed ta be work – relaxin' 's supposed ta be lettin' go, not tryin'. Lettin' go ta meh wun't be so bad, _non_?"

Not be so bad, hah.

It didn't matter if he struck a little boy pose.

Everything was strategy.

Letting go to the Prince of Thieves, who'd probably had stolen more hearts (or at least slept with them) then there were kids in her grade. It was a monumentally bad idea. Especially when she didn't know just how much Mr. Sticky Fingers would lift from her with her guard down.

But she'd put herself in this position. She had asked for his help and he was right. She had to give in to him. Physically, if nowhere else.

Admitting it however…

Abruptly, his position changed, to cover her more fully and he ran his hand down the line of her side, just edging her breast. She swallowed at the sudden frisson of sensation. In the moment of distraction, he drew even nearer, searing her with his eyes. "An' if y' ain't enjoyin' dis, den Remy be doin' somet'ing wrong."

Damn him. She pushed him away. "Well, bein' all sauve is jus' makin' me more nervous Gambit." It was a digression, but she seized the argument for all it was worth. Besides, it was true.

He let the push move him back to his original spot, but no further. Instead, he cocked an eyebrow. "'s dat so?" he murmured lazily, letting his eyes trail over her. "Y' know a better way of seducin' someone?" The humor in his voice could not thwart the knot that formed in her stomach at the suggestion. Seducing her? Was that what he was doing? It didn't sound exactly right. She was the one who'd started this whole thing; shouldn't she be the one seducing him? She shook the strange thought away.

"Probably could do better than you, swamp rat," she said, jabbing him in the chest. It was a challenge in jest, anything to leave their previous topic of conversation. His reaction was plain amusement, but he played along, leaning back on the head board while she took the superior high position.

It was after she got into the kneeling position that she realized just how idiotic the challenge was. Seduce him? She didn't know how to seduce anyone, let alone a player like Gambit! The most she'd ever learned was a sultry laugh remark in a close proximity. Crap. It didn't help that she'd basically already performed that on him to try to get him to agree to the practice, but it hadn't even worked. Even watching others, she'd only ever seen things that she either couldn't technically do or simply wouldn't do. Besides, most of the maneuvers were about being suave anyway.

D- it.

He looked at her expectantly, that d-ed mocking grin just waiting to spread across his face. Think Rogue!

"Yah know, yah kinda pretty." It was the first thing that came out of her mouth and she winced mentally at the inanity. Wait, no, she could make it work. Not too direct, sexy, but not overwhelming. She lidded her eyes and looked at him slyly, resisting the urge to lick her lips nervously. Actually, maybe that would be a good idea…

Gambit, oblivious to her internal disarray, raised an eyebrow. "Gambit be guessin' he de girl in dis scenario?"

She raised one right back, though a little surprised by the question. "What?" she baited him. "Ya want ta be?" She had to smirk at that.

"Don' t'ink I got de righ' parts chérie," he practically purred, splaying his hands oh-so-innocently by his hips. "dough yau're more dan welcome ta check." She snorted, more to cover her blush than any other reason.

"If yah sa well-assured then why ask?" she shot back. His eyes narrowed slightly, though the easy grin stayed in place.

"Well _chere_, Gambit be many t'ings: handsome, charmin', sexy-"

She rolled her eyes and grumbled loud enough for him to hear: "Obviously not humble or self aware."

He ignored the insult, instead favoring her with a dead-on gaze, the grin disappearing. "Remy ain't pretty."

She had to bite her lip. He was offended. The laughter burbled in the back of her throat and a frown touched the edges of his lips. The boyish indignation was so, so cute, she couldn't help keep teasing. "Yeah yah are." She reached over to brush his bangs. "What with the messy hair, the cheekbones, and the eyes…" She trailed off. From her proximity, she could make out the exact distinctions between the black pupil, scarlet iris, and black cornea. The scarlet was rich and heady, glowing with life that undulated in intensity even as she watched.

He pulled back slightly, still playing the put out role. "Red and black is _viril_," he corrected. "_Ne_ pretty." She didn't move, reading his face: the tightness around the mouth, the sideways angling of the eyes, the slight retreat, slip to French, the sudden slight increase of tension in his shoulders. It was almost – discomfort? His eyes…

She laid a hand on his shoulder. "They are," she said softly. He turned them full on her and she was entranced. "At least ah think so."

The unease, if that was even what it had been, was gone in a flash. Snatching her wrist, he laid a firm kiss on her open palm. "T'ink Gambit undaestimated dose skills, _chérie_," he murmured, his voice low and smoky. "'Cuz I t'ink ah've jus' been seduced." She flushed as he turned the charm back on, scoffing to cover its success.

"Well anthang is betta than 'ooh- ah t'ink you so _chaud_ an' ah be wantin' ta touch you all ova'!" She said it breathily and high, though mercilessly mocking his accent and basically the way he'd just recovered himself.

He laughed however. "Still t'ink y' bedside manner needs work dough, _chérie_."

She sniffed, but let him arrange her against his chest, covered by a long T-shirt. While thus exposed, she'd required him to cover up. Less for her to worry about, though he'd teased her about his 'well-formed body' being too distracting. "Well 'scuse meh for not learnin' bed etiquette yah've obviously memorized." It was an acidic comment and she hoped that it didn't actually sound as bitter and pointed as it seemed in her head. She didn't dare look at him, instead focusing on playing with his fingers, conveniently gloved.

He hmmed, nuzzling her hair when she didn't react. "If dare are rules," he finally spoke. "dey simple. Don' insul', don' push ta hard, and know basically wha' de other expects," he ticked them off.

She laughed lightly. "Seems like yah break all the rules."

He blew on her hair in what she guessed was annoyance. "_Chérie_, yah de one not keepin' the rules." Frustration? Well, yeah she was the one with the insults, but he was the one who pushed. But unclear motives…

She dropped his hand, half-swiveling to peer at him sideways. "Ain't rules made to be broken?" she asked flippantly. "Thought that'd be yaur motto." He traced the line of her bare arm and she swallowed thickly.

"_Non_, 's never get caught," he lidded his eyes in response, before splaying his hands against her hips, still aligned against him. "-and if y' do, make it worth their while." He did that thing with his voice where it went low and rumbled through her and she swallowed again at the depth of innuendo.

Still, she sneered. "Sell yahself pretty cheap then." His eyes went down to her lips, burning them with the intensity. The urge to flight was strong, but she resisted it. Playing chicken with Gambit was hazardous, but unfortunately necessary. Necessary if she wanted to keep any measure of control during this practice.

"Only f' yau," he drawled. The scoff was reflexive, but he still tisked. "Still so hostile, _chere_." And before she knew it, he'd rolled them so he was on top. Ugh, she had to get used to his d- unpredictability. But there they were again, with him intently slithering his slimy fingers all over her. And making her as hot as it made her tense. He paused, before gently coaxing her eyes to meet his with his soft tone. "What's dah worst that could happen?" he murmured. The red glow pinned her in place and she hated the fact there was nowhere to run. Why had she agreed to this again? "Lettin' go?"

He just wouldn't give up.

But the answer…

She could end up letting go of something it was damn hard to get back. She clenched her jaw. "Ah drain you dry." She wasn't sure if it was a threat or fear, but he waved away the seriousness with the slightest shake of his head.

"And de best?" They were too close and she paused. A distance only precise in metric existed and he was pushing even closer and then speaking, "De best is dat I kiss you."

She caught her breath shakily. "Ah-ah don't know if-"

"Shhhh," he soothed and she was caught in the rhythmic pulsing of his eyes. But still…

"Mah first kiss was-was-" he paused and she was able to think more clearly. A little. "Mah mutation kicked in the fahst time," she said thickly. His fingers, trailing up to her cheek, stroked it gently.

"_Du calme_ Rogue. Jus' breath. 'll be _bon_. Not like de las' time." Foggily, she knew he gave a grin, but she couldn't focus… His eyes were so bright. "An' y' gonna rememba dis one." It was in undertone and the words buzzed, her world now colored in red and black. Reaching out, blurring the edges of her periphery vision, glowing and shifting as with breathing…

His lips were on hers and drowsily, she let her eyes shut. The pressure was warm, so warm, firm, and she felt herself angle almost instinctively to fit them together. But too soon, he drew back and she breathed deeply, hazily.

"Yah hypnotized meh Cajun," she mumbled lethargically, feeling too dazed to truly complain. She could bitch later.

"Needed y' ta know y' could do it," he returned easily. He fiddled with her tank strap as her lips tingled.

"'s that part of those empath powers?" she asked curiously.

It startled him and he shot her an assessing look, before consciously relaxing. She didn't react. "Bit," he admitted casually, though she could guess at the calculations going on in his head. "Amplify what somebody already feeling," he traced up to her lips and whisked a finger around them, slanting a tame leer at her when she blushed, "or distort it ta make dem a tad more," his fingers twitched, "flexible." He tilted his head, letting his overgrown bangs tumble down by his eyes. "Why y' ask?"

It was a shrewd question, but she shrugged. "Jus' wondering. Thought yah could use it ta know when ta stop during practice."

His eyes became remote, though she could tell it was more out of thought than rejection. "Yah really t'ought dis out when y' picked meh." There was a deliberation to his tone that made her slightly uneasy.

"Well yeah. Didn't think ah just picked yah 'cuz yah 'good looks', did yah?" She said it with the level of sarcastic teasing that permeated almost all their interactions. She looked at him pointedly, only to register the faintest flicker. And she faltered. Did it bother him?

The flicker had disappeared almost before it had formed. "Oh, I know yah did," he returned cockily. Another mask.

But he was letting her keep hers, to some extent…

She pushed him lightly in response.

It wasn't like she hadn't picked him for his looks though. By now, she was far enough out of denial to admit that she was attracted to him. Okay, she was very attracted to him. The boy was hot. That drawl reminded her of everything she missed from the south and everything she'd never really got to experience. The stubble gave away his 'bad boy' bent, a thread of common experience that bound them: trained to be capable in perhaps not-so-legal respects. His auburn hair, too, never very well behaved, haphazardly falling over his face in a way that just begged for a smoothing touch. Or well, one that'd mess them up even more.

And then there were his eyes. They _were_ pretty. She knew they made people uncomfortable. Red and black, fire and brimstone, eyes of the devil – _Le Diable Blanc_, a voice whispered in the back of her head elusively. Yet somehow, they suited him, fit him with such unique precision, she always felt he was incomplete when he wore shades or those stupid contacts or image inducer. That was unnatural for him and she had to say, she preferred him natural. They were beautiful. He was – not beautiful perhaps, for he was just a shade too rough to fall into such an easy categorization. He was something though. Something she most definitely liked.

But this was the most they would ever be.

* * *

And as inevitable as progress was, so inevitably things began to change…

* * *

Rogue blew pale strands from her face, vaguely wishing she'd had the sense to tie it back. Flag football was not a good activity for loose hair. She briefly considered asking Kitty for a scrunchie, but in view of the fact she was on the other team, it probably wasn't a good idea. Darn. Just her luck 'sibling' solidarity had popped into Kurt's head, making him beg Jean for them to be together. And because he and Kitty had the most evasive powers, they were forced to be on separate teams.

(Kitty, claiming cabin fever, had managed to wrangle a reluctant agreement to play from Scott, despite her necessary use of a wheelchair. Also, the fact she could phase through any potential cause of harm gave her enough legitimacy to force the point – or it could be the fact she asked in front of the Professor who'd raised an eyebrow when Scott tried to point out that she'd be unhelpful in a wheelchair. Actually, she'd even managed to score a touchdown, though Rogue knew to a reasonable degree that it was staged.)

Of course, technically, this was supposed to be a no-power game. But then again, practically every even semi-sportish game they played was supposed to be that way, but, well… She watched Roberto flare up a hand and scorch off Rahne's flag. Rahne immediately stopped, losing hold of the ball to spin around and growl angrily, but the ball was still in play – Bobby icing a trail for it when Sam dove for it, dropping into Cannonball form.

It never ended up that way.

It was at times like this she realized her mutation really did suck. It was completely useless unless she was able to get someone else's powers. She flexed her arms, strategically left bare by her tank top. Hopefully someone would finally throw her the ball and she'd be able to have some fun.

And finally, Kurt bamfed and grabbed it before Sam could reach it.

"No teleporting to the end zone! Too easy!" Kurt paused at the call from Scott. She rolled her eyes. Of course he'd say that. Besides, he was captain of the other team.

"Ova heah Kurt!" She waved her arms. Maybe 'sibling solidarity' didn't have to be so bad. "Ah'm open!" Dodging Sam with acrobatic finesse, he nodded and threw with surprising precision for someone with only three fingers to steady the ball.

A little maneuvering, nerve-wracking cringing when a firework barely missed it, and it slipped snugly into her grip. "'Bout time."

She vaguely heard the shout behind her as she turned to the endzone, "Someone cover Rogue!"

Needless to say, she would've been very surprised to know that just across the field, Gambit grinned and actually listened to Scott's order. For once. "Oh let me."

She was expecting an attack. She was the perfect long distance target. Thus, it shocked the hell out of her when she wasn't hit with fire or heat energy or any other kind of energy projectile. Nope. She was hit with another body.

He caught her at an angle, making her spin sideways, a move he somehow duplicated, so that when she went down in a heap, so did he, getting tangled in the process. She hit the ground hard, but a hand to her neck quickly protected that from injury. Blinking, she groaned and finally got a look at her attacker.

Gambit.

Surprise, surprise.

"What the hell dah yah think yah doin'?" she gritted out. "This ain't supposed ta be a tackle game."

He dipped his head down. "What can Gambit say _chérie_," he breathed on her, "I'm bad at resistin' temptation." He grinned unrepentantly when she began to ineffectively try to buck him off, her arms strategically pinned to her sides by the exact positioning of his body – something he'd perfected during their other practices. Though admittedly, during those times he was usually concerned with getting her to touch him, not the opposite. "And if y' keep strugglin'," his eyes started to glow to a degree she was beginning to recognize, "ah'm gonna get some more temptin' ideas."

She froze, but kept her glare. "Let meh up."

"Aw com' on," his lips were far too close and she clenched her jaw, as if hoping that would make the sudden swarm in her stomach disappear and take the sudden urge to kiss him with it as his breath mapped out her cheek and his voice bottomed out in that way that fully maximized the sexy element of his drawl, "how 'bout some motivation?"

She couldn't help it. She really couldn't help her response. Suppose that said something about her own ability to resist temptation. She let her eyelids shutter. "Ah don't think anahything ah'm thinking of would motivate ya to get off me." The smolder went up a palpable degree.

"Get off her Gambit." She flushed at the sudden reminder they were in public, hello! Gambit didn't blink an eyelash. But with a sigh of utmost reluctance, he picked himself off her, though not without letting a gloved hand trail up the length of her torso. "This is flag football, not touch Gambit." Scott immediately launched into lecture mood. She got up, a little shaky, but flatly refusing Gambit's proffered hand. She could feel his eyes as she brushed herself off, the lecture a buzz in her ears, as well as his likely, until – "Just because Rogue's getting a handle on touching doesn't mean you can be all over her Gambit!"

She froze in mortification, but managed to wake up before Gambit could do more than open his big fat mouth that was practically leering. "Ah can take care of mahself, thahnk yah Scott! So just back off!" She whirled, catching the other X-Men yet again just prior to speech. "Yah too swamp rat! Ah ain't asking to be man handled, 'specially in a game where weh not even supposed ta touch!" She tried to block the downright wicked glint in his eyes. Giving an emphatic hmph, she stalked off, feeling the blush rise in her cheeks.

Oh, he was going to have far too much fun with that that night, she just knew it.

And so stalking away, she missed the curious even if amused looks darting her way.


	5. Succeed

To all my reviewers – thanks and Happy Holidays!

-ScrewyLouie12, dieCG, BloodChildOfHate, Wiccamage (wretched beast? -raises an eyebrow-), thesupernugget, nuriiko, icefairy915, sazzlysarah, Deathgirl997, Conquistador Imp, GoldFox, X-Storm (always love your reviews!), signourney, Peanutbutter1, Katsu Kitsune (LOL! Thanks so much for the accent compliment, I really am trying!), cream tea, anyone? - (thanks! I am trying a kindof cross), hammycatra, Mercy P. Jones, ishandahalf, MidniteAngelGoth, Captain Annie, Freak87 (thanks for the help - **What Might Have Been by Stretch**!), Chica De Los Ojos Café, RG Marie, Remy'sRose, musagirl15.

Merry Christmas! This is definitely a gift so be happy! It's freakin' long!! Oy. The next chapter should be somewhat short, so hopefully it'll be, er, soon.

If you notice Rogue being double-minded about, well, practically everything, that's just honesty. Everyone experiences contradicting emotions, especially when thrown into situations they would normally avoid like the plague. Dealing with that situation can bring out both rejection and acceptance, the desire for distance and the desire for intimacy.

Warnings: more French - I figure as they get closer, more of his French would come through, both because she can understand it and it's a decent chunk of who he is. It's also kinda cool because I know some French, so some I could just write in easily. I try to use cognates mainly. Translations for ones I use a lot: _**vraiment – really/truly. D'accord – okay. Mais – but. And amoureux is sweetheart!**_

Um, about the ending – don't kill me!

So here it is:

* * *

It Takes Two...to Practice

by Silver Nitte iz

* * *

5) …Succeed…

* * *

She'd been right.

He'd barely gotten through the door when he pounced on her. They rolled, more energetically than their usual tussles as she was starting to get sick of getting pinned, but still he got the upper hand.

He grinned down at her when she huffed. "Hmm, so y' don't wan' ta be man handled?" he asked mock seriously. And the embarrassment retook the annoyance. She blushed. Of course he wouldn't forget that. But it hadn't been one of her better moments. Having Scott, of all people, being the one to break up her little –moment- with Gambit had just been horribly embarrassing. With them both in proximity, it was just unnerving.

"Dumb thing ta say ta you, 'kay? Ah get it," she groused.

He made another hmming noise, angling his body so he was pressed against her, but propping his elbows on either side to effectively trap her. But then leaning on one, he let his other hand skate over her collarbone. "But I ain't done havin' fun wit' it," he pouted. She tried to ignore the inferred 'wit' y'.

"Maybe ah don't want yah ta have fun," she shot back, blushing as it came out breathier than she intended.

He shook his head, eyes lighting, and leaned down. "Now ah know dat ain't true," the huskiness warned her of his next move and she tensed reflexively. "_Chere_," he murmured, the word dipped in caramel.

"Ah know," she cut him off, not meeting his eyes. "Ah can do this." She deliberately untensed, always a tad hard with him on top of her. She could do this. His lips neared. She could do this. A few inches away, now so close she couldn't measure the distance accurately – her unpinned arm shot out and he toppled to the side. "Ah can't do this," she told the ceiling.

He groaned. "C'mon _chérie_, technically yah already did dis," he pointed out.

"Well mah first tahme was traumatic," she shot back defensively, just barely darting a glance at him. A lump formed in her throat like it always did when she thought of Cody. Poor, sweet Cody – who'd she'd practically become in the most, well almost, disorienting moment of her life. She didn't really want to talk about it and she went on quickly. "-and last time ah was hypnotized. It doesn't count," she asserted stubbornly.

"Once again," he grumbled so low she barely caught it.

She blinked, finally leveling a look at him. "What do you mean, once again?" she demanded.

"_C'est vrai_," he drawled indolently, "dat automatically wipes out yah memory, _désolé. J'ai oublié_." (_That's true/right...sorry. I forgot.)_

Her teeth went on edge. "Gambit, what are you talking about?" she said very deliberately.

Lying further back, he gave her a taunting sly look. "Yah really want ta know?"

"Of course!" Her brow furrowed; just what was he playing at?

"Last time not be de first time de Rogue _et_ de Gambit share a _baiser_, _(kiss)"_ he said far too smugly. She hated that attitude on him. It was the exact one that always made her want to smack him.

She frowned. "Of course it was – Ah think ah'd remember if-" She cut herself off as the complaint registered. She didn't remember obviously.

"'xactly my point," it was grumbled in undertone, which she ignored.

"Wait, so when did this supposed kiss occur?"

His lips morphed into an amused Cheshire grin and he propped himself up on his side. "Now _chérie_, how often yah do t'ings y' don't remember lata?" Blank stare. She wasn't about to rise to the bait. He gave an exasperated sigh, before letting his fingers toy with her tank strap and tease the skin beneath. "_Conseil_: has ta do wit' a guy _trés_ ugl'…

She blinked, getting the reference. "Mesmero? But why the heck would ah kiss yah unda his control?"

His grin widened. "Dat be de question, _non_?"

Her mind was still working. Mesmero had used her to collect all the powers and psyches of those around her… "I kissed yah ta drain you?" She looked over at him, fully outfitted in a large grin. "No way," she said flatly.

"Would I lie?"

She stared at him, wondering if the answer was simply too obvious to verbalize. She said yes anyway.

"Y' wound me, _chérie_," his hand went to his heart, but he went on after a second without the drama, "-but ah ain't lyin'." She gave a disbelieving snort, crossing her arms. Slyly, he added, "Got da tape ta prove it an' everyt'ing."

"A tape?" she asked dubiously.

"It was on de magnet's base _chere_. Y' t'ink de man didn't have security cameras everywhere?" It made sense, especially considering he'd had a thief as an employee, but she still frowned.

"I still don't believe it."

He began to fiddle with her tank strap again. "Jus' dyin' ta land one on de Gambit I guess," he bemoaned mockingly.

She glared. "Yah know one way ta look at it was Mesmero kissin' yah."

To his credit, he didn't even flinch. "Bettin' he don't got a kiss like y' do," he murmured, low and smoky, beautiful ruby eyes on her equally vivid lips. She couldn't help a blush.

"Probably jus' figured it'd be the best way ta take out a playboy like yah," she grumbled as he moved closer, signaling the return of real practice.

"Aww shush _chere_," a single finger dared to settle over her lips. He loomed nearer, the fire of his eyes heating. "_Nous savons la verite._" (_We know da truth.)_

Gulping, she let him closer, even as she muttered of his delusional state.

He just grinned.

* * *

The new focus on kissing though didn't change his determination to coax her into more physical exposure. Up to this point, they'd been keeping the practices practically platonic, even if any activity with Gambit necessarily treaded the line of indecency. She'd had free reign of his unclothed torso, while he'd been restrained to her face, arms, the curve of her waist, and taunting brushes of what lay clothed between. Admittedly, that was the arrangement during the intentional touch sessions, where one would be exposed while the other was covered. However, this time always seemed to lose priority to Gambit's favorite pursuit: pounce on Rogue time a.k.a. the part of the practice that was to focus on unintentional touch. During this time, they most usually both kept to tank tops (or well, a high collared muscle shirt in Gambit's case) and gloves, Gambit trading in his half-fingered for none to match hers. That had only come about after a particularly fierce 'discussion', wherein they'd compromised: Gambit would not have to be fully covered and Rogue would not strip further than the tank top. The underlying tension of the argument however, still was left to be resolved.

"_Vraiment_ _ma chérie_, ah t'ink y' be makin' too much of all dis." She raised an eyebrow as he settled across from her cross-legged. She mirrored the move after a moment.

"Oh?" Even a few days ago, she'd have b-ed his head off about him knowing nothing about her mutation and its utter seriousness. But now, when he had tasted a decent amount of stings for what she could do quite a few times, she decided he deserved some leniency. Didn't stop her from a narrowed glare.

"Y' be t'inkin' yah need ta be comfortable wit' every single place yah touch an' de otta way 'round." His fingers almost absently traced over her in the air and she shifted in her seat. "Don't t'ink it be dat specific. Yah get comfortable 'nough, it won't matta."

"Whattaya mean?"

"Won' matta how much skin yah got showin' or what bein' touched – well, mostly," he couldn't seem to help a small leer after that remark. But his earnestness quickly resurfaced. "Y' feel comfortable period, and dat skin of yaurs won't be an issue." She swallowed at how simple he made it sound, how – possible.

"Well, ah ain't comfortable without a shirt-" she still said stubbornly.

"_Chérie_, if y' don't wanna strip, _d'accord_," he shrugged. She eyed him suspiciously and sure enough, there was a 'but'. "-_mais_ considerin' all dat Gambit t'ink you be wantin' ta do…" he trailed off, bringing locked fingers up to under his chin. "'s usually da firs' step." Straightening, she readied herself to respond, when his next words completely floored her. "Unless ah be wrong 'bout how far 'xactly de _chérie_ want ta go." He eyed her shrewdly.

"Thought we'd already gone over this." Avoiding his eyes, her face reflexively heated. She'd laid it out, committed to it once. But saying it again, here in her bedroom – would make it too real.

"Yah said everyt'ing. But an _homme _can get ta wonderin' 'xactly what y' meant…" Her flush deepened.

"Ah meant 'xactly wha' ah said," her accent thickening defensively, she finally locked eyes with him, chin out. "Sex an' everything." His grin turned wicked, but she refused to let that phase her. She'd always planned on this, even if she'd tried to avoid all the implications in her own ponderings.

It was yet another reason she picked him.

Nobody simply oozed casual sex like Remy.

Gambit. Right.

"Everyt'ing sounds _trés_ fun _amoureux_," he purred, just proving her point. His next question however, did not. He cocked his head. "But yah sure y' want ta do it wit' Gambit?"

She raised her eyebrow. "Yah tryin' to talk me outta this Cajun?" The thought was absurd – and somehow made her more nervous than anything prior to this point.

He shrugged. "Jus' want yah ta be suhre of what y' doin' _chere_. _Des femmes_," he made a vague gesture in the air, "dey always have dere ideas about _le première nuit_," he paused and she wondered if this was a cue for her to assert her virginity. She didn't say anything. "- dey usually don't include Gambit."

It was an objection that made sense, but she had to admit that she'd never guessed it would be coming out of his mouth.

"Why not?" she simply shrugged, opting for brute cynicism. It was the only way she'd get out of this unscathed. "Ah need a fuckbuddy," if her voice caught on the term, it didn't mean anything, "and yah be the best option ah got." His expression was unreadable, the intensity switching to something – cooler. She shifted uncomfortably, retreating to babbling, "It ain't like it has ta mean anything. Sex ain't that special."

If he would just make a d- comment about her obviously not having experience or it being fantastic with Gambit, something flippant and leering, she'd feel a whole lot better. But he just sat there, with the beginning of a frown troubling his brow.

If he dared to say anything else, especially something in the opposite direction, she was going to hit him. He was the d- poster child for casual sex.

She sneered, feeling defensive in the face of his unresponsiveness. "What, yah don't know how ta do casual sex?"

And finally, finally he responded, even if his heart didn't seem to be completely behind it. Oh was that just wistful thinking? "Oh Gambit know how ta do it," he ran his tongue behind his teeth, flashing them at her predatorily. "Gambit know how ta do it _très bien_. _Mais_, long as we be all _ouvert_ an' all, might as well figure out how we gonna do it."

Her eyes widened and her blush passed tomato shade. "Ah know the mechanics, swamp rat!"

He leered at her. "We coul' ahlways review," when her flush managed to get even redder, he grinned, "–but dat ain't what ah meant. I meant de messy details," he splayed his hands, "like protection."

"Protection?" she echoed.

"Guessin' yah don't want _un bébé_," her eyes enlarged at the mere suggestion, "_mais_ given y' feeling on havin' barriers, not suhre if yah be good wit' a condom."

It took her two blinks to digest what he was saying. And at this rate, her cheeks were going to be permanently tinted. Agh, how could he be so casual about this? Obviously more bed etiquette he'd learned. The thought made her stomach tighten, except – did he always suggest options?

She'd never thought it out.

"Uh well," she had to look away from his unbelievably composed questioning gaze to order her thoughts, "ah'm on the pill." It came out with preamble and he blinked. She caught the rising of his eyebrow and explained. "Since mah mutahtion, every tahme ah've absorbed a guy, those male ha'mones an' stuff been messin' with mahne an' my body," even as terribly embarrassing discussing sex with Gambit was, it didn't compare with discussing menstrual issues with a guy – and she skimmed as much as she could, "been all outta wack, so Mista McCoy put meh on the pill. It's jus' easier." She avoided looking at him straight on, instead focusing on the crease of his shirt right below his shoulder.

"_D'accord_," he muttered after a moment. She was pleased to note he appeared to be as awkward as she felt. At last. It gave her enough nerve to go on.

"So if weh don't use, uh, condoms," He was right. If they could help it, she didn't want to have a barrier to well, skin-to-skin contact. Even if she hadn't really thought of it that way. Was it a barrier if even normal people resorted to it? But she wasn't normal. "-it'd pro'ly be okay."

"I'm clean," he offered. Her eyes shot up to his. She hadn't even thought – missed prime insult material there. But the thought merely served to turn her stomach. "Got checked and everyt'ing."

She bit her lip and looked away. She knew she should ask when, but she didn't.

"Hey _chérie_," without warning, he finally crossed the unspoken boundary between them and cupped her chin. She turned to meet melting scarlet hue. "Ah be here wit' you, _hein_?" So gentle.

She let her eyes shut, resting her head in his hand.

The hand he'd never yet ungloved.

* * *

Finally, grudgingly, she gave in to taking off her shirt.

And just wore a sports bra.

That sparked a new debate. Gambit claimed that it wasn't a true bra since she wouldn't usually wore it under her clothes (which of course resulted in her stating he had no idea what she wore under her clothes and him stating that he'd love to find out). He then reversed the argument when she admitted that she felt more comfortable in it since it covered more. He said a bra was a bra and that they both covered the same essential stuff. The 'real' bra would just be prettier about it. She had to roll her eyes at that.

It was around then that she realized he'd actually taken her advice. Rather than being too d- suave and seducing, he'd managed to lighten the mood for more casual teasing.

And finally, just laughing at his latest offer to even be gracious enough to pick out which bra from her drawer, she did it. It was the most relaxed she'd ever felt with him and hopefully this wouldn't ruin it. She didn't give him warning, just leaned forward and took what he'd been offering for some time.

She kissed him.

To his credit, he didn't stiffen at the suddenness. Instead, he simply raised a hand to guide her face into a more complimentary angle.

It was just as awkward as the first time, physically, but she quickly lost sight of that. He was warm, feverishly, and the warmth seemed to spread far further than her lips, a tingle that filled her with promise – promise that if she kissed him again, or let him kiss her, or even let his tongue – still trapped behind his lips – come out to play – tasted him like she now realized she really wanted to –

It was more than she was ready for.

She broke the kiss.

Unfocused green eyes came to meet hazy gorgeous red-on-black. She was panting and languidly, his eyes trailed back down to her lips.

The thrill of want, of desire was stronger than she'd ever experienced.

She _wanted_ him.

And it was both exhilarating and terrifying.

Gently, as if steadying a colt trying to run for the very first time, he guided her into his embrace. "Wana try dat again, _chérie_?" he murmured languorously.

She flashed him a faint smile. "Jus' give meh a minute, mistah ovaeaga."

He nuzzled her hair. "Only f' yah," he breathed.

* * *

And however unwillingly, unwittingly practicing ran over into real life.

* * *

"Do we have popcorn?"

Rogue bit her lip as Kurt rolled his eyes, pushing the instant popcorn package into the microwave. "Vait a moment, vill you?" He nodded towards Rogue. "You can go seat down." He laid a casual, though cautious, hand down on her bare forearm. "I vill be zere in a minute."

She nodded. "Just don't burn the popcorn. We ain't all got iron stomachs like yah," she teased, grabbing her box of gummi bears and heading into the other room.

"He better not," grumbled Kitty from the couch. Propped with pillows, foot rest and a throw, she looked comfortable, if not completely happy.

"I heard zat!" Both girls rolled their eyes at the protest.

Rogue settled herself next to her, resisting the urge to scoot over and leave a reasonable margin of room. It wouldn't have been so hard to resist if her arms hadn't been barred by her sleeve-less shirt and her hands were bare (she felt so naked without gloves). But the whole point of this movie time with Kurt and Kitty was to get her practice out of the Danger Room and in more usual settings. Thus, the common room had gotten roped off for her practice use. The Professor had also mentioned something about her being comfortable around others in her everyday life – something that just reminded her of Gambit's theory. She hadn't yet mentioned it to the Professor, more out of a fear of betraying something of its origin in the telling than for any other reason. But it seemed he already had figured it out.

Shaking the thought from her head, she calmly smacked the hand reaching oh-so secretly towards her gummi bears. Kitty pouted, pulling back her hand.

"Oh come on Rogue, I'm sick here."

"You got a broken leg Kit, not a disease," she pointed out unsympathetically. In the kitchen, the microwave dinged. "An' yah precious popcorn will be out in a minute."

"But it's not swe-et," the other girl whined.

"Gummi bears ain't that sweet. Behsides, yah want sweet, get some chocolate." Kitty's eyes lit up.

"Mmm, chocolate."

"Here ve are," Kurt called, finally entering the room. He dropped the bowl of popcorn in Kitty's lap before sprawling on Rogue's other side. "I vant some though, so don't hog it."

Kitty nodded, which immediately made Rogue suspicious. And sure enough, Kitty scooted to make doe eyes at Kurt. "Hey Kurt, could you be a sweetheart and get me something?" He nodded without little hesitation, his usual weak spot for Kitty just having enlarged from his sympathy over her injury.

"_Ja_. Vhat do you need?"

"Chocolate." He blinked, having expected something like another pillow.

"Chocolate? Vhere am I supposed to get chocolate?" Rogue shook her head, deciding to have pity on him before Kitty suggested something extreme like him going out and buying some.

"Fo'get it fuzzball. Ah got some tucked away." Both teens turned to her as she stood up.

"Oh, but I don't want to use up yours!"

Rogue couldn't help but find that ironic and gave into the impulse to lean over and flick Kitty's forehead.

"Hey!"

"Like yah weren't gonna use up my gummi bears?" she asked wryly, ignoring the yelp. Kurt, after a moment's pause, tentatively grabbed her arm.

"No _schweister_, it's supposed to be your practice time." He made to get up. "I can get it."

"'s okay." She patted Kurt on the arm, disengaging herself and gently pushing him down. "'ll only be a few minutes." Halfway out the door, she stuck her head back around. "An' no touchin' mah gummi bears!"

Kitty and Kurt watched her go with varying reactions. Kurt frowned, but Kitty had slipped into something more like contemplation. "She didn't have to leave so quickly," he grumbled. He knew she always felt a little awkward about practicing, but honestly… Kitty shot him a look.

"She's not going because she's trying to get away from us," she dismissed. "or because she doesn't want to practice. Actually-" her eyes turned back to the door. "I think she's doing a lot better."

"Really?" Kurt asked skeptically. She nodded.

"She seems a lot more comfortable; I mean she like touched us without warning and didn't get all twitchy over us being too close. She didn't even flinch when you grabbed her arm." He looked at her dubiously, chewing his lip. But with a sigh, he stretched over and grabbed some popcorn. Kitty's eye ticked as blue fur stuck to the side of the bowl. Ew.

"Vhatever you say," he groused, obviously unconvinced.

But she wasn't just imagining it – Rogue really was becoming more relaxed over touch. She'd noticed it even with others outside of practice, daring to touch people with her fingertips – a feat Rogue wouldn't have done even a week ago. She wondered at the change, but didn't know how to ask – especially about her interaction with one particular mutant male…

Her eyes fell back to the innocent bag lying in Rogue's seat. She bit her lip. Surely Rogue wouldn't miss one or two? She was half-extended when –

"Ah said hands off Kitty," guiltily she snatched her hand away as Rogue walked back into the room.

"Ah Rogue, that was fast," she said, blushing and figuring denial was pointless.

The other girl shrugged, settling in between them again and handing Kitty a giant chocolate bar. "Found some in the kitchen." She'd actually had some help – Remy's psyche had piped up about where some was hidden, startling her.

Sometimes she forgot she was actually absorbing him when her skin sucked at his fingers. She only got the briefest flashes of his psyche (perhaps he used those impressive mental blocks?) and so far, his powers hadn't been a problem. She'd made his shirt glow a few times, but he's always easily reabsorbed the charge and calmed her own usage of the power.

Honestly, the absorption was mostly so gradual, she only noticed much later. He was rubbing off on her, slowly but surely. She caught herself slipping in her accent, getting the urge for nicotine or bourbon, giving alternative French words in class, palming a deck of cards or small things without even really noticing. Carrying the Queen he'd given her helped with the latter urge to some degree, but all the habits needed conscious monitoring. To some degree, she couldn't even be sure if it was the bits she kept absorbing or just from spending so much time with him.

It wasn't exactly that way with the other psyches she'd absorbed after the wipeout from Apocalypse. Wolverine was the strongest as the first one she'd practiced with and thus the one she'd absorbed the most and for the longest time. He was as talkative in her head as outside of it, though she'd lately had to resort to blocking him due to his rather negative view of her involvement with Gambit. Kitty and Kurt's psyches had words to say on the subject as well, but it was considerably easier to block out their infrequent comments of high-pitched giddiness or German-tinged dislike. In general, their personalities were easily distinct from her own and remained so.

Gambit, however, was unusually silent in her mind and elusive.

Logan then was the one who really influenced her when she wasn't paying attention. Her early absorptions had changed her habits obviously and then repeated absorptions had forced them so far in, she now slipped when unfocused. She'd catch herself trying to scent the wind (and sometimes unnervingly succeeding), calling strangers 'bub' in her head or even out of it, craving the smell of a cigar, looking twice at redheads, itching to go for a ride on a motorbike – though admittedly, that could be her own urge, knowing things about missions or events that she had never been involved – a whole list of things that would trouble her if she dwelled on them. Dwelled on how these things were becoming her own. Just like how she was cutting more consonants from her speech, noticing everything valuable when entering a room, and craving more spice in her food.

It would worry her if she dwelled on it.

But Gambit was an excellent distraction.

And so she got through the movie practice, more relaxed than in a long time and distracted at the most random times, a fact lost on neither Kitty nor Kurt.

* * *

Kurt's worry was not assuaged. He didn't fail to notice a few days later when she came down to breakfast in full gloves and long sleeves.

She brushed off his concern. "Don't be such a worrywart bro," she lightly shoved his shoulder," jus' a little experiment." Predictably, the touch combined with calling him bro made him calmer, though he still eyed her suspiciously. Perhaps he had some right considering exactly how'd it come about.

* * *

"**Don't be so shy **_**chérie**_**," he chided, adding with a wicked glint, "it don't suit yah. Jus' touch where and when y' want to." It was easy for him to say so; for him touch was not only instinctual, it seemed pretty dang reflexive. And predictably, his hand traced the line of her bare side.**

"**It ain't so easy when yah trained not ta," she grumbled moodily.**

"**Need to re-train den." He began to drum his fingers on her and she was unsurprised to see him become thoughtful. The motion was a dead-giveaway that he was about to make a point or at least conceptualize one. "How 'bout dis:" he flicked a finger toward her, "we make a bet."**

"**Ah ain't makin' a bet with you, Gambit," she stated flatly, emphasizing the title.**

**Forgoing a wounded look, he just shrugged, telling Rogue just how serious he was about this. "Fine, challenge den. You touch every tahme you think to-"**

"**And yah don't?" she jumped in. The completion obviously took him off guard, but she took a moment to think about it. "Hmm, could be interestin'." It wasn't a terrible idea on her end and having him try to be her for a day? That was priceless. "Alright mister touchy-feely," she smirked. "yah got a deal."**

"**Now, what should be de prize?"**

**Her smirk slipped off her face. "It ain't a bet, bayou boy. Behsides, how'd we know we'd kept the terms?" she raised an eyebrow.**

"**C'mon, don't be cruel," he cajoled, pouting. "Need some motivation." She resisted the urge to snort. Since when did he need motivation?**

**Instead, she let her hand play with the very base of his throat, smoothing the collar of his shirt. Lidding her eyes, she pouted right back at him. "Ain't ah reward enough?" she murmured throatily.**

**The contrast of his eyes brightened. "Yah," he murmured back, "in a bra." Her eyes widened as his face split into an uncontrollable grin. She slugged him in the shoulder and he laughed. And she couldn't help but smile, before kissing him. He responded enthusiastically, by now reasonably reassured it wouldn't unnerve her unnecessarily.**

**That led to the pleasant diversion of them making out for a good amount of time. His lips were pliant and enticing, drawing her in to experience the more fun aspects of kissing. Angling the mouth, parting his lips to tempt her tongue into exploring him before joining in the fun and making her dizzy with the delicious melting feeling that filled her at the intimate interaction. **

**Finally drawing back, he said somewhat drunkenly, "Gambit t'ink he be good wit' dat." She couldn't help a small feminine smirk of pride and he eyed her. "Still wan' ta see y' bra dough." Staring at him for a minute, she couldn't help but laugh.**

* * *

By that night, she realized just how much of a challenge it was. Even the minimum of touch she was used to had become unnerving due to her lack of gloves – though she somewhat cheated and had reverted to full gloves for the day. Gambit had raised an eyebrow when he spotted them that morning, but thankfully, had been unable to say anything at the time. The lack of danger of absorption should've made the challenge a piece of cake.

It didn't.

Ignoring impulses or even opportunities to touch had become second nature. Even clothed touch just brought home the fact she couldn't touch, not the real way as she considered it. So she usually avoided it. Avoided handing something directly to someone, brushing shoulders, laying a hand on someone's arm or shoulder – the million little careless moves that involved bodily contact.

Lately, she'd been trying to be more touchy, but the modification of her gloves had made it that more unsettling. She was trying not to be afraid, she really was, but she'd been conditioned well. Even then with full gloves, the discomfort had remained, a sore that refused to heal. She would hesitate and then often lose the opportunity, making her doubly appreciate the fact she hadn't made it a bet.

It was perhaps ironic because honestly, it wasn't like the average person touched others so much in the course of a day, unless they were close to a special person. That, in and of itself, should've made the deal easier. But her latest practices had awakened the desire to touch in her. The deal depended on acting on her desires, which now as never before throbbed inside her. She wanted to embrace what others could do without real thought and the fact she was so damn close made her nearly feverish with craving. It was as if her body realized just how long she'd gone without real touch and it fully intended to have it paid back in full.

So she found herself patting Kitty on the head, linking arms with Kurt for a precious few moments as she dragged him into school, squeezing Amara's hand when she helped her up after some idiots sneeringly knocked her down, pushing her way past Logan and Jubilee to enter the kitchen, ruffling multiple Jaime's hair, even actually daring to brush some fringe from Scott's forehead when teasing him. She gained more than Kurt's curiosity by the end of the day, but she didn't care. It was almost shockingly liberating. Now if she could just do it without gloves…

Wandering back to her room, vaguely in the foreground, she recognized Jubilee and Rahne making plans to go out. She steered away from them. The day had been surprisingly exhausting. She was ready to call it a day and curl up with – "Hey Gambit, you wanna come?"

Rogue's head snapped up and she ducked against the corner still between her and the others. He was going to say no, right? She tried to calm her suddenly racing pulse. It, it wasn't like she was trying to shut down his entire social life, but still, especially tonight –

"Sorry, _pet'te_," she heard his Cajun twang dismiss the girl and she totally did not feel any relief whatsoever. "Gotta a hot date tonight." And her world came crashing down.

Jubilee and Rahne passed her obliviously while she was still too dazed to move. A hot date? The wave of hot fury caught her off guard and when Gambit turned the corner, cocking his head as he obviously discovered her, she whirled on him, cornering him against the wall. Jabbing him in the chest, she hissed, "Yah mine tonight Cajun."

He smiled that wide 'cat-ate-the-canary' grin, dropping his voice into that range that she hated – liked far too much, "Was dere any doubt?" The fury stalled, making way for instant confusion. But then his fingers almost reflexively reached for her, before drawing back. Ah yes, the deal. She couldn't help the faint smirk. It was easier than contemplating exactly what had just happened.

"Havin' trouble with our deal sugah?" she asked, saccharine sweet.

"_Alors pas_." (_Course not)_ He fixed her with a shrewd look, before smirking back. "'s funny dough," he said casually. "Don't remember y' specifying that ah was yaurs all de time."

The inference overwhelmed her for a second and she froze. All the time? They weren't dating – they weren't. She wasn't sure if she – it wasn't like he was the dating kind anyway. She forced herself to play it off. "Yah the one who's all focused on how much tahme we got," she shot back sassily. "What, yah want weekends off?" She dearly hoped he couldn't feel the underlying tension as she leveled him a piercing look.

Say no, something inside her pleaded.

"No." He smirked wider and she told herself she most definitely felt no relief. "Dis be funna b' far," his fingers twitched toward her again and his face morphed into frustration, "when I can touch yah," he mumbled.

She wished she was comforted by that.

* * *

That night, when he reached for her, she slapped his fingers.

"No touching, rahght?" she smirked. "Can guess how well yah end of the deal held up."

He pouted, the most authentically she'd yet seen. "Been denying mahself all day, _chérie_, waitin' fa y'." She raised an eyebrow, but didn't object when he traced the outline of her top, instead stripping off her gloves to run her hands up his clothed chest.

"Thought yah'd be happy, meh havin' ta touch yah where and when ah want yah," she told him imperiously. The flare of his eyes was dramatic and there was that feminine pride again.

"Y' be more dan welcome ta dat all da time," he said thickly. Apparently that was as long as he could stand it – before he hauled her completely into his embrace. She spread her hands against his toned back and dared to gingerly nestle her face against his neck.

"That rahght?" she retorted. "Suppose it jus' be fittin' if ah said it'd be fine fo' yah ta not touch all de time," she teased him, hiding her smile in the curve of his shoulder.

"Not dat bad dough," he breathed into her hair, his hands splaying against her exposed lower back and bringing her even closer. "De only one I wanna touch is you…"

And even if it was a lie, it was a beautiful one and she had to close her eyes before she lost herself too far in him. Even if, treacherously, a small part of her wanted to.

And touch he did, as if trying to memorize her skin through his fingertips. The heat it stirred in her was intense and she vaguely wondered if it's even possible for him to charge her, because it definitely felt like all the mass of motionless cells inside her were filled with an energy that was crying to be released. His lips dropped a seductively chaste kiss on her shoulder and she shuddered. Turning her head, their lips met to continue her tutoring in the art of kissing.

She loved his kisses. He kissed just like he fought: bold, teasing, overwhelming. Big showy first move, then sneaky, coaxing slipping in of the tongue to tangle with hers. Take a breath and he nipped her edges of her lips, before laving them with sloppy kisses that made her laugh and then kiss him again until she was breathless. Switching to a blitz, he showered her with kisses over and over again, small taunting mouth kisses, that made her flip him over and force a deep kiss, one that somehow transforms into a stream of exploration and desire.

Meanwhile, his ever dynamic nimble hands busied themselves with caressing her toned muscles, showing as much care as Pygmalion sculpting Venus' form on Galatea. Wandering, they daringly tread lightly over her thighs and edge the sensitive area between, forcing a gasp from her. But quickly they retreat to a 'safer' area, boldly brushing her oversensitive breasts that causes her to catch her breath, even as his lips traced down to her collarbone.

Hazily she determined that he was overdressed and she tugged at his shirt, which he quickly shed for her enjoyment. She ran her hands over his bare chest, then brashly kissed him, right below the right shoulder. "Much better," she murmured and he looked up at her with obvious admiration.

"_Vixen_." And then their lips were locked again, legs intertwining as their fingers explored every crevice, every bump, every indentation with nitpicking care. They burned.

She wanted him.

Wanted all of him.

All he offered, so…damn…easily.

She didn't realize when it started. Too wrapped up in touching him, tasting him – a desire that just intensified. She needed more, more contact and her inhibitions were as if they had never existed. But of course, Remy didn't have that many to begin with – just wanted Rogue so bad it ached inside like the charge that begged to get out.

Her eyes flew open at the thought – not her own – and her vision rebounded, red-on-black facing red-on-black – he was moving back and she was him or she had just been. She scrambled back, rushing to separate their skin immediately. Panting, she stared at him, so aroused – with both his and her own emotions – it made it hard for her to think.

And then she feels it, is it for the briefest second – even as he just sat there, eyes wide and disoriented. Afraid. He was afraid.

"_Desole, desole_," (_Sorry, sorry)_ she chanted, gasping it out. She felt sick. "Ah-" But it was all she could say. She was hyperventilating.

She bolted to the door, nearly racing to the bathroom down the hall, feeling her stomach churn within her. Once there, she locked the door, suddenly wishing as never before for a deadbolt, a vault door, bars and beams and things that could make the door impenetrable to all. Something to keep her in and the whole world, _him_, out. She rested her head against the door, body trembling on the cold tile floor.

It was quiet.

He'd finally realized just what he'd gotten into. He had to have, she told herself. Her eyes shuttered. And the gambit just ain't worth it.

The psyche in her was still too turned on to comment.

But she was wrong.

Footsteps echoed in the deserted hallway. The doorknob shifted marginally.

"Let me in _chérie_," the voice was low, but still managed to diffuse through her. His presence burned her even through the door.

"Jus' leave meh alone Remy!" she choked out, curling into a ball. "Ah-ah – Y' shou'n't be nea' meh!" She was dangerously near tears, but she wouldn't break down. Not now. Not with him so close.

"Let me be the one to decide dat _chérie_." She closed her eyes, hunched. "Ah ain't leavin' yah Rogue."

She recognized the sound, actually visualized the action even as it occurred – feeling the slim metal in her –his- hand, coaxing the tumblers to slide into place. Coaxing like a skiddish _femme_… She swallowed hard.

He picked the lock.

And then the door was opening and he was there, looming large from the darkness.

"It's gonna take more than a locked door to keep m' away _chere_." His voice was quiet, but firm.

She held herself tighter.

He slid into a squatting position, managing to be perfectly balanced on the balls of his feet. He was near enough for her to reach out and touch, but he made no other motion toward her, not even one checked. She was torn between gratitude and choking disappointment.

"We gonna get through dis Rogue," he said strongly and directly. "Dat's a promise."

It's worth it.

And all she could do was shut her eyes tighter.


	6. Try

I find it interesting how you're all interpreting Remy and, well, Rogue differently currently – some of you think she's in love, he's in love, he's just being a player, she's being a player, she's in denial, he's falling in love or she's falling in love. –devious grin- Well, wait and see. Ditto on why Remy was afraid – though the fact she'd just started absorbing without warning, I think, should be a self-evident reason.  
Remember – I'm using comic cannon: that kissing Cody activated her mutation. It becomes important here.

Thanks for the reviews!! Sorry for the delay – the return to college was a bit trying. And you better appreciate this – it turned into a monster, even longer than the last chapter!! Probably 'cause I moved a scene from the next chapter to this one – didn't want to be evil and leave a cliffie. Stupid me. And, ugh, the next chapter's going to be just as long (approximately).  
-Purple Kitsune Satsu, Caitlyn, blackrosedragon8, mistyxtc – write professionally? In the future…, Rogue181, dieCG – lol!, shweeps, Romy lover, Taco Bell 14, Alwaysright1, strawberrigashes, Katsu Kitsune – (cute & sexy, thanks! – returns glomp!), RogueFreak, GoldFox, hammycatra aka Catra, Peanutbutter1, SouthernLoner, ElizabethMarieBennett, Deathgirl997, Freak87, Captain Annie, Mercy P. Jones, Chica De Los Ojos Café, Remy'sRose - :), Conquistador Imp, BloodChildOfHate, PsychoTherapy, MidniteAngelGoth, musagirl15, cream tea, anyone?, Leash, On My Signal - Unleash Hell – love that name!!

**Special reviewers**:  
**killerkumquat** – I _love_ Remy and Rogue and the ramifications of her power are just begging to be considered. I'm glad I'm showing that consideration.  
**Some Scribbles** – you reviewed!! Yay, yay! I, like, love your stuff!! –giddily twirls around- I loved how you described it: 'sensitivity and heat… comfortable inside their own skin'. That's what I'm trying to do.  
**HopelessRomantic84** – 'get busy already', little more patience please lol.  
**nuriiko**: 3 reviews woah!, thanks for the motivation! The sleep beside issue I'll address later, yay re-reader! Ah and the fact there's nothing really blatantly sexual yet it triggers that thought – good! That's exactly what I'm going for – though I'll be becoming more descriptive in the near future for a time.  
**Mazdamiatta** – Remy as a practice dummy – I know isn't it a great idea?!

And on to the next chapter!

* * *

It Takes Two...to Practice

by Silver Nitte iz

* * *

Try

(so much for progress)

* * *

It was 11 o'clock.

Rogue watched the clock from her position curled up in the corner of the common room couch. She was probably the last one downstairs. By ten o'clock, most people headed to their rooms, to occupy themselves there if not to go to sleep. Curfew was a somewhat casual affair. Logan did rounds to make sure no one was downstairs by 10:30, but there were always exceptions. If there was a project requiring a large table or the end of a movie or whatever, he was pretty cool about letting it go. But push midnight, and you would find yourself with an extra Danger Room exercise and a three steel-pronged helping hand to your room.

When he'd seen her on the couch, he'd grunted. As one of his few choice favorites, she knew he'd let her stay there. But she hadn't expected anything more.

"You okay Stripes?" He'd growled, the evident discomfort with asking the question revealing far more about his concern. His eyes had flicked to the fact she was once again in full gloves, long shirt, and jeans. It was the same look he'd given her that morning, when he'd first spotted her going straight for the coffee, needing the caffeine after a very restless sleep.

Actually, it wasn't the question that startled her. Logan had been one of the first X-Men she'd bonded with, a link only strengthened through the biking race-away, her psyche-possession fit, and lately through practice. It was through this last experience, the gradual assimilation of his psyche that she'd come to understand just how deeply he regarded her. She was neither friend nor sister nor daughter nor protégé, at least not as he consciously regarded her. Instead, there was a convoluted mass of protective, frustrated, amused, and affectionate emotions that all jumbled in his head when dealing with her. (Logan was not one keen on introspection; he didn't analyze his own feelings, he just reacted.)

On some level, she thought it was all because he recognized something fundamental: they were kindred spirits. Rogues with mottled pasts, survivors that wavered between rules and instincts, hard to trust, hard to know, too often treading the border of control and sanity. In helping her practice, he tried to give her a future, even as almost a measure to ensure his own.

It was also why, though she would never dare breathe a word to Logan, Remy got under his skin to an extent not even Scott could.

She resisted the urge to shake her head of the thought, knowing Logan would take it the wrong way.

"'m fine," she said shortly, holding herself a little more tightly. It wasn't a real answer, but it was a standard one Logan could appreciate. He'd given it even when with broken ribs and a cracked skull.

His brow became more ridged, furthering what exactly it was that bothered her. The expression he was wearing. The look like he was biting his tongue, like there was something he was dying to say, ask, _something_ – and it bothered her because if there was one attribute that rarely described Wolverine, it was restrained. He threatened, he goaded, he snarled, he glowered, but he almost never held himself back.

The knowing look in his eyes made it worse. Like the reason he was restraining himself was because he already knew what her problem was. And that made her beyond edgy. He couldn't possibly know about Gambit – otherwise the other man wouldn't be breathing, let alone strolling around with his typical rooster impression.

"Right," he muttered. And then a conflict, obvious to her, but completely mystifying in nature. "Just be – if yah wanna – need to –," she blinked as his frustration mounted, what he intended to say twisting from word to word. Dang, this was really awkward. He frowned. "We're here for you Stripes, just remember that," he growled and then without even waiting to see her reaction, turned on his heel and stalked off.

And leaving her with the stunned thought she'd completely misread the whole subtext.

She sighed, like she didn't have enough on her mind as it was.

She still had no idea what had happened the night before. After her spectacular meltdown, Gambit had let her calm down before coaxing her back into her room. He'd been surprisingly sensitive, saying not a word when she changed into a sweatshirt and pajama pants as well as layering on gloves and socks. He did dare, after the ritual covering by her and himself, to tuck her into bed.

And then with painstaking care, he'd settled on her covers. Smoothing the surface, he'd then gently fitted himself against her, hand slipping with casual naturalness to curl around her hip, spooning with her back to him. She'd been stiffer than Scott at a rap concert, but too tired to fight him. Or at least that's what she told herself.

The fact he'd still been willing to get close, even with all the layers in the world, was enough to trigger more wetness pressing against her eyes.

They'd laid like that for what seemed like hours, her tension and rampant emotions, thwarted arousal and all, still racing through her system and refusing to let her rest. For a time, she thought he was going to break the sleepover rule, but eventually, with all the appearance of reluctance, he got up.

And finally, she slept.

She'd spent this next day trying to figure out what had happened – well, that and trying to ignore the shadowing, overwhelmingly physical sense of his presence.

Her mutation was supposed to operate as a defense mechanism. Once she'd deactivated it, so to speak, it was supposed to only turn back on if she became upset – defensive, tense, afraid, even nervousness could trigger it. But she'd gotten past that with Remy.

And she definitely hadn't been feeling any of those emotions during her latest practice with him. If anything, it had been in the opposite.

She hunched her shoulders further.

She'd tried talking to Xavier, questioning him on if there could possibly be more to the triggering of her mutation than mere defensiveness. If there was any possible significance to the fact it had first activated when she was kissing Cody (slightly embarrassing to admit) rather than as a defensive measure if she'd been man-handled or something. His brow had creased, hands steppling, but he'd begged off an immediate hypothesis, saying he needed more time to consider the idea. She hadn't pressed – how could she explain her insistence? It had been awkward enough approaching him in the first place.

Honestly though, she was glad for the reprieve. She hated not knowing what had happened, but she had a greater dread of knowing. Of having what she'd always feared be confirmed.

That she was just not made for touch.

For _being_ with other people, especially just one person in particular.

That her skin was just as much defensive as offensive, a toxin that intended to take the life out of anyone who tried to get close.

11:11.

She watched another minute tick by.

She'd managed to avoid Remy all day. Assigned to a different team for Danger Room morning practice, she'd gotten Jean to go after him, forestalling a possible approach, then slipped out before he could catch up with her. After school, she'd claimed a headache and a need for the peace of Bayville library. That had sufficed 'til dinner, after which she'd managed to stick around the 'new' mutants, close enough to prevent his advance but far enough that she could have her own space. A space he'd finally apparently given her.

The number of frustrated glances he gave her made her aware her avoidance was blatantly obvious, but she didn't really care.

She didn't care if he was waiting for her in her room either.

Or if he wasn't.

She pressed her face down on her arms, closing her eyes and breathing deeply.

"Rogue?" Her name was faintly accented, a wavering question underlain with a concern she was only too familiar with. She picked her head up, wondering how long Kurt had been standing in the doorway, his eyes luminescent in the dim lighting of the room.

"Yeah, Kurt?" she asked, suddenly feeling exhausted. She'd only slept fitfully the previous night and she wasn't sure she was up for an awkward heart-to-heart with her _frère. _Brother, she corrected. D- Remy remnants infecting her mental processes.

He chewed his lip. "If, somezing iz wrong, you know you can talk to me, _ja_?" he said it with obvious hesitance and she felt like sighing. Kurt was always so perceptive around her, taking their 'siblingness' to heart, possibly even more now as he saw her as his last link to family. The pang of guilt was achingly familiar, but she pushed it away.

"Ah'm fahne," she said, working up a weary smile. His expression didn't ease and she had a feeling he was as unconvinced as Wolverine.

On those odd arched feet of his, he padded over to the couch, laying a three-fingered hand on the back. "Still experimenting?" he asked, unhappily glancing at her hands and arms. She actually followed his gaze to her full-gloves and long sleeves. Oops. She'd almost forgotten about that. After absorbing Remy the previous night for damn unknown reasons, she'd gotten a little paranoid. Thus the cover-up.

It was perhaps ironic that with the swamp rat running through her veins, the counter impulse to touch and get close to others had intensified. This time though, she didn't give into the urges.

"Not exactly," she mumbled, internally wincing at the irony. She played with the hem of her glove – and perhaps it the hour, perhaps it was the stress, perhaps it was just him with his brotherly concern, perhaps it was the exhaustion, perhaps it was the dim intimacy of the room, perhaps it was _his _influence – the question came out without prompting. "Waht if somethahng happens an' ah end up not bein' able tah touch?"

She didn't dare look at him, the sudden closing of her throat making her curse the fact she'd even voiced the treacherous thought. How could he know the depth of her fear?

"I zink you vill be able to," he said with that confident optimism that sometimes just drove her up the wall. "But iv not, it wou'n't change anything," she could feel his eyes on her face. "Nothing important. Ve'd still care and ve still vould want to be vith you."

With practiced deliberation, he laid a hand on her shoulder. Her spine prickled, but she didn't protest, instead let herself relish the touch. His honesty was equally sweet – the permanence of her 'hands-off'ness was unimportant to him.

"Just like you stick by me though I'm the fuzzy man," the weak joke coaxed a laugh from her, though she recognized the underlying seriousness. He had to forever hide who he was, knowing only a chosen few would ever accept him fully. He had to live with his mutation everyday and not make physical contact for fear of revealing it. Yeah, they had some in common. But he had Amanda – she wouldn't let herself go further with that thought.

When she let his response lie, his fang slipped over his lip again, but he didn't push further.

"Iv you need us, ve' here for you _schweister_. Don't give up," he reminded her, squeezing her shoulder lightly before releasing it. That got a more genuine smile. It seemed to be a popular refrain that night.

"Ah know," she said equally softly.

"You should go to sleep, _ja_? Everyzing is better in the morning," he prodded her. She gave a faint nod, before flashing a humorless grin.

"Don' think I'd be gettin' too much sleep."

His eyes flicked over her face, perhaps innately sensing some subtext he didn't get. "Should still try." His subtext was easier to read. **Don't give up.**

And she knew, knew he wasn't referring to her practice, at least not to the one with Remy if in the slightest sense, but the words still sunk into her and she found herself nodding.

She rose from the couch and they looked at each other for a long moment. Then swallowing hard, she gave him a hug, "Thanks _frère._" There was a strange echo of feeling that she identified viscerally as another's memory, of closeness and longing and affection, but she ignored it.

She didn't notice the odd look he shot her when she started for her room.

11:23.

* * *

Rogue closed the door behind her softly, no longer so determined to face him. If he'd even stuck around. If he'd even come in the first place. But she wasn't a coward. She closed her eyes as her hands found the light switch. She wasn't.

The light only lit up the room partly, leaving the balcony and edge of the room in shadow, and her breath caught for the briefest moment. But sure enough, red flared.

"'s bout time you showed up," he emerged from the shadows, eyes afire. "Beginin' to t'ink y' skipped ou' tanight," the casualness of his voice belied the tense coil of his body and pointed gaze.

"Yah shouldn't be here swamp rat," she said calmly, refusing to acknowledge any relief that he had actually shown, not come to his senses overnight.

"Told yah help y' get through dis," he flexed his fingers, wryly indicating the balcony door with his shoulder. "An' dat a locked door ain't gonna keep me out." It had been a poor, but almost instinctive action when she'd awoken that morning.

He walked closer, but she was shaking her head. She refused to back up, even if the resolution was a bit useless anyway considering her back was already against the door.

"I don' know why ah absorbed yah Remy," she said firmly. Only after the name was out of her mouth did she realize the slip. He cocked his head, more tension than warranted leaving him. But it was too late to correct it and he was still walking toward her. "Ah can't –"

He brushed away the protest, already within a foot of her. The light at his back threw his face in shadow, but she could still read his expression, his eyes visually becoming brighter. "So weh find out. I ain't throwin' 'way all our progress." He was being frustratingly blasé, but he paused, eyes searing her, before going on in a soft tone. "I'm not afraid."

She scoffed, the bitterness welling up so fast it nearly choked her. "Yeah right –" She should know – she'd felt it for herself.

In a flash, his fingers went to her chin, the too-familiar texture causing a reflexive shiver down her spine. His eyes flared. "I was caught off guard Rogue. But I'm not afraid. Why are you?" She didn't quite hear the last question, as laced with strain as it was. His other arm had made to wrap around her, a move she implicitly anticipated and she jerked away, feeling the anger bubble higher. Why did he keep touching her?!

"You should be!" He stepped closer, his face set, and she backed up reflexively only to hit the door. There was nowhere to go. Nowhere to run. And suddenly all the unfairness fell on her. "Damn it Remy, you should be! I'm poison-" Her fury choked her and she couldn't contain it. Her hands went to the hem of her shirt and jerkily, she ripped it off. Her skin, pale from lack of sun exposure, gleamed in the faint light. All that skin, that he so dearly wanted to touch, kiss and caress – that at least she'd clearly received – there, ready and willing to send him into a coma or worse. "All of me – Can't you see?!" Denied tears brimmed frustrated in her eyes.

But when he reached, Rogue couldn't escape him. Nowhere to go. Nowhere to run. He crushed her to his chest and she fought him. She could take anger, frustration, rejection, antagonism, but tenderness… "Don't do this Remy," she pleaded thickly. "Ah-"

"You're not a monster."

Words as soft as the feathers of an angel.

And her breath choked in her throat.

And just like that, she shattered, stained glass window falling to a million shards.

The sobs ripped from her, dredged from the depths of her reserves, the buildup of years of frustration. Self-loathing. Anger. Bitterness. Thwarted longing.

Despair.

A million moments of too-close calls, near-misses, turns away, and draw backs. Each one another cut, another sting, another proof of what exactly she was.

And he held on through the cascade, whispering sentiments in French that she understood at that visceral level. Sweet nothings in her ear…

It slowed only gradually, the vehemence unwinding from her body. Finally, only a few dripped from her cheeks and her breathing had devolved to a watery hitching. There was silence, but not one awkward. Drawing soothing meaningless patterns against her back, Remy nuzzled her hair before finally breaking it, "Looks like ah got y' down to yah bra afta all."

It was dumb and stupid and just so corny, but she laughed anyway, half a hiccup. She felt loose, slack as if all the muscles in her body had suddenly atrophied. She'd never felt so lethargic around him.

"Had an idea f' tonight." Breathing into his chest, the movement of his mouth rustled against her ear. She didn't want to move, but still –

"Remy," she sighed, trying to dredge up resistance from corner of her body that wasn't glued to him. "Ah don't know why-"

"Shh," he pacified, his lips angling far too close to her neck. She shivered. "Ah know. Just gotta be a li'l creative." She could practically feel the smirk form on his face. "Not a problem f' Remy, _vraiment_." His fingers trailed against her spine, inciting more goosebumps, before he gently chided her, "Told yah, didn't want ta lose all our progress."

With utmost care, he detangled himself from her, keeping their fingers entangled. With a light tug, he led her to the bed. There, she noticed for the first time, rested a folded off-white mass. He picked it up and the neat mound unfolded.

"What's this?" she asked curiously, as he extended it towards her. She gingerly reached her gloved fingertips to the sheet, for a fleeting second wishing they were bare but all too aware of the over-expanse of her skin that was already showing.

"Egyptian silk, _six cents_ thread. _(600)_ Only de best for _ma chérie_." She could feel the heat of his eyes on her as she stroked the material for herself. It was a heat somehow more layered, more profound than one of pure desire. She didn't look at him though to see it, instead unable to keep from wondering about the quality. Had he really gone to so much trouble for her? Hah, it was probably just the sheets off his bed – she could see him refusing to sleep on anything so mundane as plain cotton sheets. Sheets from his bed…she swallowed, embarrassed by how much she wanted to stroke them.

"So what," she asked, trying to keep her tone borderline dismissive, "is it for mah bed or something?"

He chuckled, low and throaty. "_Non_ _chere_, it be for practice." With a flick of his wrist, the sheet draped over his arm. "De texture 's fine – not too thick, not so see-through." His smirk was incendiary and she could feel its speculation. Her cheeks flushed, finally feeling self-conscious of her lack of shirt. "Not dat ah don' appreciate da view. Now strip." Her eyes shot open.

"What?"

He waggled the hand covered by the sheet, his smirk slipping in amusement. "Well, dis'll be all da barrier we need-" Her flush deepened.

"Now swamp rat-"

"Y' keep yah bra and _culottes_ on, (_panties_)" he said, cutting the objection off. "jus' get rid of de pants." The cavalier way he spoke of her underwear should've wound her up, but his actual request was much more daunting.

By unspoken agreement, the waist and below had been hands off – well, with the exception of last practice. He'd never ventured fingers inside her waistband though and she had certainly not gone farther than he dared. The implications…

Except now his oh-so nimble fingers, after stripping off his shirt – so regardless of her exposed skin, were already popping the button of his dark jeans. It was only when they inched down far enough to expose the waistband of black boxers that she realized she'd caught her breath. She was going to look away, really she was, but – it was silk, it had to be, black silk with little flaming cards on it. Where the heck had he found those? "Din' know yah were waitin' on a strip tease." Her eyes flew up to meet dancing red irises and she wasn't sure she was capable of a deeper shade. "Dough if dat's waht yah want-"

She half-turned away, popping off her shoes and shimmying out of her pants hurriedly. She kept her socks on, a bizarre comfort and snatched up the sheet, wrapping it around herself under the power of his gaze. Feeling the length of her legs, her arms, her waist, her neck as she never had before, she cloaked herself in the sheet. He grinned as she fussed, but ignoring Remy only encouraged him. Before she knew it, he was behind her, tracing the curve of her spine.

"Mm, thought yah might return da favor," he said teasingly and her blush returned. "Dose white li'l briefs _très_ _mignonnes_." (_very cute)_ His finger brushed against the back strap of her bra. "Like de bra better." With a huff, she elbowed him and drew away. He chuckled and she tried to avoid staring at the absolutely lickable visual. "Now c'mere." He patted the bed and with some reluctance, she sat down, clutching the sheet closed around her. "And take de gloves off." She clutched the sheet tighter reflexively.

"Why?" The sheet was only superficially reassuring. Her gloves, on the other hand, were a comfort of a more enduring kind. Taking them off was always nerve-wracking. Practice had only dulled the edge a little.

His eyes gentled. "_Calme amoureux_. De sheet's enough wit'out de gloves." As she watched, he peeled off his gloves, exchanging them for a pair without fingers. The act made her shiver; his bare hands, for that moment uncovered, somehow more arousing than any sight prior. He let his bare fingers brush her back, the heat soaking into her skin even through the sheet.

Knowing the affect he was having on her must be obvious, she ducked her head. Hunching her shoulders, she held the sheet closed with one hand, using her teeth to pull off her gloves, one at a time. She was becoming more sensitive to him; she could feel the exact sweep of his fiery eyes, singeing with their intensity, resting alternating on her mouth, her exposed fingers, her face. "Why are yah keepin' on yaurs then?" she asked to perhaps deflect some of the attention. He shrugged.

"Got mah reasons."

The gloves fell in her lap and in a single fluid motion, he scooped them up and placed them on the nightstand. She wasn't sure if that was close enough, but she didn't have long as he nudged her.

"Lay back." Stiff and awkward, she yet let him guide her down onto the bed. He hung over her, bare armed, bare chested, bare legged, and she doubted the effectiveness of the sheet. As if reading her mind, "_Chere_, 'll be _bon_. Now," he tugged on the sheet and reflexively she gripped it tighter. He gave her a reassuring smile. "Jus' t'ink 'll work better if de sheet falls ov' all of yah." It took her a moment to realize what he meant, that his tug was in the direction of pulling the sheet further over her rather than away from her. She flushed and let him rearrange her cocoon. The heat of his hands permeated the cloth and made her sweat.

Smoothing the sheet over her, he murmured, "'member how I said, more ta touch than skin." His fingers ghosted the line of her hip, edging her rib cage, and she nodded spastically. His head dipped as he dropped a chaste kiss on her sheet-covered shoulder. Inhaling sharply, her eyes fluttered shut. "Dis be part of dat." She could feel the brush of his lips as they moved and heat uncurled like an awakening cat inside her.

Cowardly or not, she grabbed the sheet and covered her face. She heard him snort, but he didn't remark on it. Instead, she felt him press an almost consolatory kiss unto her forehead, surprisingly accurate.

She wasn't sure if it helped – not seeing him, like always, just made the reality of his presence so much more visceral and all-encompassing. His touch, his heat, his scent, his movement, his sounds – he was everywhere, pressing against her skin, herself, yet not sinking into it. Her mutation tingled wildly, but for once it didn't matter at all. At all. "C'mon _chérie_," the closeness of the voice to her ear almost made her jump. "Don' make Remy do all de work." He was amused and she knew, just knew, he said it to goad her into action, but somehow, it returned to her some of the composure she desperately needed.

Speaking more confidently than she was, she retorted lightly, "Wou'n't dream of it swamp rat." It took her longer to actually comply. She needed a minute to adjust to the play of shadow and light visible through the sheet – he'd been right; it wasn't see-through but she could distinguish him just enough.

And finally she reached for him.

She couldn't _feel _him through the cloth as she had become accustomed to, but the silk definitely beat any gloves she'd ever had. She could feel every indention, every groove – all coated in complete smoothness, and she explored him with sudden liberating curiosity. Always she worried about absorption, especially in practice. Last night, the first time she'd really let go of that worry, it had backfired spectacularly. But here, now, in that moment, she didn't have to worry or fear or despair. She hated the sheet for what it represented, but oh, why did he always have to be right?

Her exploration became bolder – chest, neck, arms, face – smoothing the sheet to a cast of his face. A Greek statue, she nearly giggled at the thought, feeling giddy. He responded in turn and she trembled under the familiar foray.

And then, without warning, he hooked his legs with hers, grabbing her hip, and flipped them over. She rocked unto his chest with a slightly embarrassing squeak, the sheet falling to cover him instead.

"What de hell-"

"Jus' t'ought y' might wan'a switch i' up a li'l." His voice was a bit muffled by the sheet, but even then she could tell the thickening of his accent. Perhaps he was as affected by this as she was – a surprising, if unexpected speculation.

Smiling a little to herself, she murmured a breathy 'kay. She adjusted her position into a straddle, a bit awkward for her, but she focused instead on the sheet swathed form beneath her.

It was odd looking down on him so, the sheet an odd shade of white that looked almost flesh colored in the dim light. The thought of Greek statues came back with more force as she smoothed the cloth against him. Under the probing of her fingers, the fine material revealed the exact contours of his abdomen, chest, shoulders, as if under a master sculptor's hands. And just what was she sculpting? Her ideal man as the Greeks had? She felt a tendril of unease curl around her stomach.

Her fingers wandered further up as she leaned, ghosting over his features to more fully expose them. And yet, it was but a blurry composite, the face of any man. The need to see his eyes hit her with alarming force, as if she was suddenly afraid of the stranger she had made out beneath her.

She nearly leapt off him when his hand reached for her, an almost ghostly apparition that overthrew the mold she had cast. He became even more amorphous. Her stomach rolled. Was this how he had seen her? A mere female body?

His fingers splayed against her ribs, then paused, as if he'd sensed her sudden mood change. "Rogue?"

At the familiarity, her breath hitched and she suddenly found herself sprawled against him, closing her eyes to remember, recognize the feel of him if not the look.

But she needed more. Not achingly close brushes under a sheet.

"Ah want ta touch you." The desperate admission was out before she realized. The hint of tears stung the edges of her eyes, hovering right above the cliff. D- it, why was she so emotional today? All his fault…

To his credit, he didn't answer flippantly, but rather in a matching hushed tone. "I know."

The sympathetic lilt was too much and she felt the tears press, but she wasn't about to break – not again, d- it! Anger was always the easier way.

"I hate this! Ah don' wanna be a prisona fa the rest of mah life! Damn it!" she swore, a fisted bare hand slamming into the bed near his head.

"Oh _chérie_, y' will get dis. _Je le sais._" _(I know it)_

"And how 'xactly do you know?" she snorted, but with less edge. Hmm, bayou boy had to be exercising those charm powers of his a lot tonight.

"Yah too stubborn ta not to." She snorted again, but had the feeling it was a frank sentiment.

"Yah just sayin' that 'cuz you wan' ta sleep with me," she lobbed back, reaching for the flirtatious, scornful commentary that was their standby. She wasn't prepared for his reaction.

Remy stiffened completely, before ripping down the top of the sheet and sitting up. She blinked at him, inordinately glad to finally see his eyes, before remembering her state of undress. "Remy!"

He shoved the sheet towards her with a hint of exasperation, his eyes throbbing in a way she knew wasn't good.

She started to wrap it around herself again, but he didn't wait. "_Dieu_ Rogue, dis ain't 'bout me. I t'ought, _vraiment_," his fingers flexed before running through his hair in agitation and she recognized the sudden craving for a cigarette. "Dis be 'bout you Rogue, y' gettin' control. It ain't 'bout me an' what ah want!" The words came out harsh and she felt inexplicably hurt. She clutched the sheet tightly around her.

"Ah know that Gambit. Don' gotta be rude 'bout it," she said stiffly, despite the protest in the back of her head, that last night it sure hadn't felt that way. He looked at her and then sighed, cursing in French under his breath.

"Dat ain't what ah meant ta say," he mumbled. After a second and another sigh, he peeled off his gloves again. "Yah wanna know why Remy wears gloves?" It seemed completely off-topic so she just shrugged, even though she'd wondered more than once. He held out a hand to her. For a second, she assumed the mottled state of the skin was due to the play of light and shadows. Then she realized it was from scars. Dozens of them. Deep red, tannish wavering bands, thick jagged layerings, tightened splotches – it was a map of pain.

"Ah was _onze ans_ when ah firs' charged somet'in'. _(eleven years old_) Din' know why de hell mah fingers hurt like de _diable_ or why de rock ah was holdin' was glowin'. Found out pretty quick dough." His bangs fell over his eyes and she could only guess at the expression in them. "Din' take m' too long ta figure I had ta let go of whatever was glowin' when da pain came, but made t'ings a bit hard," his humorless smirk held both bitterness and self-deprecation. "Hard ta be a t'ief when yah blow up stuff wit'out much warnin'. Eatin', clothes, touchin' anythin' but mah own skin was almos' impossible f' awhile."

"But-" she murmured without really realizing, almost needing to point out he could still touch people. The only thing she really cared about. He shot her a look, before going on in the same tone.

"People get nervous 'bout bein' touched by someone who can blow t'ings up, 'specially t'ings on 'em." He flexed his fingers. "Started wearin' gloves so de charge went dere first. Gave meh time ta le' go of stuff 'fore it started to charge." He stared down at his hands. "Din' always have 'nough time ta get de gloves off dough."

The sympathy, empathy, whatever it was, hit her so hard she felt her throat choke.

"Took meh nearly _duex années _ta get it totally under control. _(two years)_ Took meh longer ta learn how ta reabsorb a charge. Kept da gloves dough, jus' in case."

_Dieu_, she wanted to touch him, so badly. Had to feel him, touch his pain, the scars that echoed the ones inside. Entranced, her hand was halfway to him when she realized it was bare. Damn it. Shifting, she reached for her gloves. Remy saw the move though and without warning, swept them off the nightstand.

"What do you think-" she sputtered angrily.

"Y' wanna touch 'em, yah touch 'em bare handed." The undercurrent of emotion had exchanged for brusqueness. Her jaw just about dropped.

"Ah can't do that, yah know that!"

"Y' tried?" She stared at him, a little confused.

"Ah assume yah were there las' night," she snapped testily.

"Dat be last night. Yah tried today?" Her jaw snapped shut.

She really hated it when he had points. Still –

"Ah don't know why-"

He stuck his hand out. "Just try." She stared at the hand. "Do wha' yah do ta normally touch an' try. If yah start absorbin', yah can pull away." He was completely sincere. She could tell that, though why was beyond her fathoming, especially after the previous night.

Her hand extended again, slightly shaking. Breathe, she reminded herself. In and out. Natural. Controllable. Tentatively her fingers rested on his palm. He didn't tense, at all, and she marveled. And then marveled again when it worked. She wasn't absorbing. Not keen to press the fact, she still ran her fingertips over the scars, tracing the lines of healing and experience. And oddly, the thought struck her that Greek statues didn't have scars.

"Dis be what ah mean, _chere_," he said quietly, watching her. "Control takes time and plenty of practice. And I know y' can do it. If I could…" His hand wavered and she felt the press of memories in her head, teasing the edges of her mind with ear-ringing explosions, the acrid smell of smoke, and the choking cough of debris. She could delve into them, delve into him, but she didn't, didn't want to.

No, after what he'd just shared, she felt so – close to him.

And suddenly she knew.

* * *

The link between mind, body, and emotions is hardly as easy to discern as it is often treated. A change in brain chemistry can affect the mood, a broken heart can literally kill, being told the truth can lead to a vast array of emotions.

It should be little wonder then that the trigger of a genetic mutation is far more complex than the obvious, especially considering its nature. Ideally, a mutation should be to the benefit of its host, acting to defend or further the host's aims, notably in times of emotional stress. Unfortunately, there is never a guarantee, or even a clear cut probability, that either action will be successful in its intention.

Especially when other variables, particularly people, enter the equation.

* * *

Rogue was waiting for him on the bed the next night when he arrived, carrying the sheet. That was good – if her hypothesis didn't actually end up working, it was a good backup plan.

She'd thought long and hard after the revelation from the previous night. It had only been the germ of an idea, without any real rationale. She'd actually felt her mutation tingling last night and consciously turned it away. It had been at if she hadn't _needed _it.

It was the first time that had ever happened. Dr. McCoy and Professor Xavier had been trying to get her to that point – where she would not just get to a state where her mutation was off, but actually be able to turn it off or consciously prevent it from activating. She hadn't been able to exert that much control however. She could feel the difference between having her mutation on and off, having it off making her feel bare in a completely unphysical sense, but the actual transition had eluded her conscious control. Xavier had originally proposed that it had to do with the making of the defensive mechanism as default. The actual trigger in some sense had become divorced from the active state of the mutation.

But a defensive reaction no longer seemed to explain away its activation, not after its reaction to Remy. And it had never really explained Cody. She hadn't wanted a defense from Cody; she'd wanted to be closer. Close like she wanted to be with Remy, though she certainly hadn't felt anything nearly as intense for Cody – something she was trying not to dwell on. And closeness in a physical sense was oh-so easy to confuse with closeness in more nonphysical senses.

Xavier had confirmed her ponderings.

"**I must admit, I had not considered that dimension. Mutations are most usually activated in times of emotional stress, usually from fear or panic. However, as I suppose you have realized, not all emotional stress is negative. In light of strong emotions, it is entirely possible your mutation activated in order to fulfill an internal desire to be," he paused, "closer."**

Then of course, there'd come about ten minutes of discussion where he'd tried to delicately talk about sex, intimacy, and her mutation without actually specifying the first two. It had been mortifying and she'd escaped as quickly as she could, especially when he began to probe if there had been a recent incident that had caused her to begin thinking about this.

But it had served its purpose. She'd come up with a workable (she hoped) theory. Now all she had to do was explain it to Remy – and then see if he'd still practice with her.

He rested the folded fabric on the bed. "_Bon_, y' here. Hopin' wou'n't have a repeat of las' night," a note of light teasing took any potential sting out of the words.

She took a deep breath, the reminder of how he'd waited bolstering her courage, and patted the bed next to her. "We need ta talk."

To his credit, he snapped out of the typical male freeze at such a comment with remarkable speed. Raising an eyebrow, he settled beside her, closer than she'd indicated – predictably. "Oh, what dose de _chérie _wanna discuss?" he cocked his head. "'Cuz if it's suggestions on her _conson _I got some ideas." _(underwear)_

She knew he was speaking out of nerves, but she still flushed, registering his speculative gaze sweep over her body. "Don't make me regret strippin' yesterday Remy."

He flashed teeth surprisingly white considering his extracurricular habits. "Won' dream of it _chérie. _Wan' a repeat afta all."

She rolled her eyes and returned to the subject. "Ah think ah know why ah started ta absorb." His body language became more focused.

"_Oui_?"

She looked down at her hands. "Ah think –" she cleared her throat. She really hadn't expected this to be so hard. But like always, admitting something to Gambit was practically painful. A finger slid under her chin, compelling her to meet his rich red eyes.

"_N'ayez pas peur, hein_? (_Don't be afraid_ (lit. have not fear)) Told yah ah'd get yah through this."

No fear, oh if only it was so easy. But she blew out her breath and tried again. "I want, wanted-" she quickly corrected, "ta be closer ta yah. Ah was," her cheeks tried to match his eye color without consent, "excited an' wan'ed more. Unfortunately-" she made an indistinct gesture, but he'd slipped into thoughtfulness.

"Yah mutation came on ta give yah mo'," he finished for her, musingly. "Huh." His finger slipped from her chin and she told herself it meant nothing. She nodded confirmation. "Guess fa once Remy left a _femme _wantin'." The joke was weak and it didn't make her feel better in the slightest. They slid in silence, his mind and eyes fixed somewhere she couldn't quite see. She couldn't take the distance. If he was going to run out, she wanted him to at least do it knowing everything – even if she didn't know why that would be better.

"Ah got a theory though." His attention fixed back on her and she resisted the urge to lean closer to him. "If ah-" He wasn't going to like this and she faltered, but his eyes urged her on. "Well if weh used anotha way fa meh ta feel close ta yah, ah could get my mutation ta back off." And the eyebrow returned to its upward position. She took a deep breath. "If ah knew more about yah," she finally said bluntly. "If we got closer, lahke friends," it struck her as odd to use that word in relation to Remy, after everything, but it was as far as she, they, would, could go, "then mah mutation would be les' likely ta come on."

She searched his expression for a trace of his thoughts – revulsion, fear, resignation, dread, resistance? Was it too much? To ask for his secrets? Did he not want to be that close to her? But his face had slipped into a poker game and she only saw a thoughtful milieu. Did that mean he was considering it?

"It'd go both ways," she added, her nerves getting to her. "Secret for secret," at the s-word, she swore she saw a flicker, echoed by a shadow vibration inside. She faltered, muttering, "Quid pro quo."

He still didn't say anything and she finally just nodded decisively. "'s okay Gambit. It's a lot to ask," she admitted. "- and completely not covered by our agreement," she was talking to his ear by now, a far easier target than his face, and one that made it easier for her to keep composure. "Ah'd lahke ta thank yah fa helpin' me this-"

"_Dieu chere_, yah really don' got that much patience." Her eyes shot to his face and she could feel some of her composure immediately fold. His face was still a schooled mask, but she could see the tell-tale flicker of his eyes in emotion. "Din' give a _réponse_ now did I?"

She shook her head, rendered mute. He looked at her intently; his fingers twitching in a way that she knew meant he was dying for a smoke, or his cards in a pinch.

"Got a question f' you," he went on, instead of giving an answer. "Y' really want ta go on practicin' wit' me?"

She blinked. "If yah willin' ta go through-" she started. He waggled a finger.

"No' de question. Do yah, Rogue, want meh, Remy?" He made the obligatory matching pointing finger motions between them.

It was how he said. She flushed instinctively. He was forcing her to admit she wanted more than practice, more than touch, more than sex or affection. That she wanted _him_.

She swallowed. Hm, if he did agree to the practice, it'd probably work wonderfully. He could already extract the most unwilling truths from her. "Yes," she rasped reluctantly. Yet his expression did not transform into the arrogance she'd assumed.

"Y' suhre yah wan' ta chance it wit' dis swamp rat?" his tone was light, obviously striving to make her feel less pressured. But there was a shade, a strand of unease, that she suddenly discerned.

**Chance it.**

Chance what? Absorbing him? Was he afraid that she'd absorb– Her thoughts suddenly reversed. What she'd already absorbed. He was afraid of what she'd already absorbed, that she wouldn't really want to go on with him. But why? Sure she'd gotten more than one blurred sexual encounter in her head now – not exactly new considering how much she'd absorbed from Wolverine and oh, icky subject she really didn't like to think about.

Other than that, most she'd absorbed had revolved around her and his physicality. His desires reverberated in her, the desire for touch – for her. She'd had heightened sense of those in her proximity, something she'd actually thought she'd already perfected, as well as an echo of her emotions and motions – comments and ghost touches that slipped under her defenses with all the ease of the psyche's true owner. But truly, it was mostly only a blur.

Could he really be afraid there was something in his head that could actually make her not want him?

"Well, ah already chanced it wit' a guy whose codename's Gambit," she returned wryly.

"And that din' turn out that badly, righ'?" She let her lashes fall, letting her peer at him surreptitiously. She left the ball in his court, watching for his reaction. The thing she hated the most was his unreadibility. Even with his psyche in her, she only ever caught half his tells and was probably only interpreting a quarter of those correctly.

He smirked, but instead of agreeing – "Bet ah turn out even better," he bragged, returning the tease.

"See yah jus' as humble," she commented dryly and he gave her his special 'I really am God's gift, aren't I' grin. It transformed his face, returning it to the state of arrogance and insinuation that had seemed his norm for so long. It felt like a lifetime since she'd seen it. "Guess I betta get started then." He reached for her and she stiffened in surprise.

"What, practice now?!" she blurted out. For some reason, she hadn't thought he'd be quite so gung-ho. She wasn't sure exactly what she had been expecting, but – did he really have no reservations?

He shrugged his shoulders in an elegant roll of his shoulders. "Dat theory need testin', _non_? No time like de present." His hand rested against her back, stroking the bumps of her spine almost absently.

She licked her lips, suddenly nervous. This was her theory after all and she didn't _want _to absorb him or hurt him or- "What if ah'm wrong? An' ah start ta absorb yah an' can't stop or-"

A gloved finger pressed her lips into stopping. His eyes flicked in reassuring amusement. "_Du calme _Rogue," he soothed. "Jus' rehlax. 'll be watchin' for it. Weh gonna get ta dat point an' try yah secret idea. So don' get all tense when it happens."

She stared at the casual instruction. Not get tense? When her mutation triggered without warning? "But-"

His hand went to her shoulder and lightly pushed down as he spoke over her protest. "Yah just gonna lay back an' no' worry." Grudgingly, she let him press her down. But she knew her anxiety was obvious as he meet her eyes. Sighing, he leaned and tucked some loose hair behind her ear, with all the delicate care of a lover. She shivered. "Know yah can turn yah mutation off," he murmured lowly, and intimately their eyes locked. "'ll pull away as soon as it happens, _d'accord_? Lahke I said, 'll be watchin' for it. Even if yah so scin'illatin' jus' wanna get lost in yah," he breathed this into her hair, leaning down, the hint of a smile relieving the tension a little. She rolled her eyes, but was unable to restrain the pleased flush, not when she now knew it held more than a strand of sincerity.

They started slowly, moving her into a better position in the center of the bed. He kept above, letting her do her relaxation techniques before inviting her to touch him. Reaching up, mapping out his contours under the T-shirt he wore, grazing the cords of his biceps, before finally feathering over his bare throat. He swallowed and she watched entranced, feeling the bob advance and ebb. Trailing fingers over his face – brushing the bristles, getting airy kisses to her fingertips, sculpting his nose, ghosting over his gorgeous eyes. Still tentative, but he didn't press too hard, nuzzling her palm. He loomed over her, in the backwash of light only partly revealed, but she felt no fear.

And then he began to ply her. Her eyes fluttered shut as he leaned down, nuzzling the base of her neck before laying a gossamer kiss on it. The warmth of his lips sent chills down her spine and she stiffened. "_Du calme_," he breathed, half-bare fingers arcing over her ribcage. "_N'ayez pas peur mon coeur_." She took in a breath and exhaled. His hands reached higher and then his mouth came to hover over hers.

"Remy," she whispered, locking wide anxious eyes with him. He was impossibly tender.

"Jus' rehlax _amoureux_, I got yah."

And he kissed her.

It wasn't fireworks, the heat firing off inside her in cascading colors and formations. No, this was a more subtle seduction, coaxing and heady, luring her to match his smoldering intensity. Tugging lightly on her lips, urging her into opening, playing with her tongue, her teeth, her lips.

Her hands fisted, clutching his shirt.

He was persistent, but not insistent, drawing her out rather than pulling. She was supposed to remember, remember absorbing – calm, but she couldn't under him.

And moments meshed with seamless gasps and pants and hisses – she was heat and he was fire and his fingers slipped under her shirt and she let him draw it up.

Her mind was a blur, only barely registering the shirt coming over her head. Her skin was afire and _Dieu_, his hands were on her and that was all she cared – he was kissing her and she could just burst but his lips were leaving though his fingers were caressing and she wanted him so bad that it practically ached inside. Burned.

It took a moment to recognize his withdrawal. Still leaning over her, she blinked up at him. "Remy?" she murmured druggedily, feeling loose and feverish.

"How yah feel _chérie_?"

"Hot," she said without thinking and she felt his chuckle reverberate in her.

"Don' doubt dat, bu' anyt'ing else?"

She blinked again, the implications finally hitting her. "It's on?"

He nodded and her reaction was immediate. "Don' tense _chere_," he chided, "want yah ta 'member how it feels like." But it came too late. He clucked his tongue. "C'mon Rogue, need yah ta be at dat state. Not dat I mind getting' yah there 'gain." She felt the heat throb inside and she squirmed a little. At this rate, she wasn't going to get to the relaxed ground state anytime soon.

However, Remy obviously had different ideas as he stripped off a glove. The sight was as scintillating as it had been the night before and she swallowed hard. Propping himself beside her, he let the bare fingers just skim her from the waist up.

And there went the fireworks.

She shuddered practically from head to toe and he smiled down at her.

"Wanna tell a secret?"

Her head was muddled, flushed with desire she couldn't be sure was completely her own. She admitted the first thing she thought of. "Ah wore sex'er undawear tonigh'."

He actually laughed at her and this time she flushed visibly. "T'ink I noticed dat," he drawled, fiddling with the side strap of her black bra. "An' _chérie_," his still gloved palm came to rest against her stomach, the few bare fingers deliberately just barely brushing her flesh. "-told yah not ta tense."

She swallowed hard, finally actually feeling the new flare of her mutation. It felt a bit different from the normal activation, though most likely because of the whole host of other emotions that seemed tied with it. Raw desire, lust, longing, attraction, want, craving, _aching._

She needed – a real secret.

And the words came unbidden. "Ah've never felt this way before." It was too much perhaps, but… His eyes met hers and she was surprised at the look in his eyes. Almost – awe?

He exhaled and bent down, hiding his face in her hair. After a moment, he nuzzled her ear before whispering his own. "I neva considered sayin' _non_." Something deep, deep down inside her loosened. The buzzing of her mutation smoothed into a quieter hum and when he moved to her mouth, she didn't hesitate to kiss him.

Running out of breath, they broke it and he looked down at her. "Look like _tu as raison_," (_you are right)_ he intoned. "T'ink it need some more tests dough." He gave her a lascivious once over and she could only laugh at his blatancy, feeling a whole different tension uncoil from her.

"Guess yah havin' fun," she remarked. "Love challenges and all." She kept her tone neutral. This certainly was a challenge, wasn't it?

He fingered her bra strap. "Yah know yah mean more." Staring at his angled face, she couldn't read him.

Did she even want to?

She wasn't sure anymore.


	7. Try 2

**Sorry for the completely late update – this semester has been insane and life was simply demanding attention! But, yay! Summer! And this chapter – oy, eat your hearts out!**

**And yes, I am already working on the next chapter! (Oh and would someone get Some Scribbles' butt in gear? I updated, now get her to!)**

**Getting compliments on Remy's depiction, yay! ****Now as a peek into Remy **_**(only two more chapters 'til his part!)**_** – In the last chapter, Remy was making her say he was more than just the convenient choice, basically more than just a body. Interesting that that concerns him, non? (Sorry for all those hoping for a full-blown Rogue/Remy relationship or that that was an admission of love, just have to sit there a whole lot more agonizing, scintillating scenes! –wink-)**

**And then at the end, she can't read his face – if he's being serious or not. The next phrases, 'Did she even want to?/She's wasn't sure anymore' could be interpreted as either: does she want to mean more? ****Or does she want to **_**know**_** whether or not she means more? (For Mazdamiatta)**

* * *

Psychological comments – I love psychology and was going to minor for a while, but that fell through for International Studies yay! And well English Writing. But yes, so I am delving into those depths – Rogue is soo fascinating in that aspect. How much of how we are is simply the masks we put on so long ago to defend ourselves/protect others? And how do we develop new habits from those so long engrained? And intimacy is the most interactive field were this really comes out, especially when you bring in a player like Remy with a recluse like Rogue. The power conflict just makes it so much more poignant.

**WretchedMuse** (-big, BIG grin!- I love your conjecturing: "I absolutely adore the nuances of Rogue's powers here, especially because it creates a scenario where, instead of denying her a true emotional connection, they'll allow her to make an even deeper one than most people find. Of course, that should mean that she'll never really have a casual relationship, right? Anyone she chooses is in it for the long haul;-)" –wicked cackle- Wait and see!!

**TrOuBLeDObSeSSioN – there will be NO detailed smut. This chapter I'll be treading the line, but please re-read the disclaimer on the first chapter. My main point is NOT sexual shenanigans – and people, please tell me how I'm doing!**

Thanks to all my lovely reviewers – you definitely motivated me this to week to finish!!

Twice the rogue, Piper Of Locksley, drthmik (**boo to quick fixes, yay practice!)**, nuriiko, Lady Starlight Serenity ("très steamy entre ces deux!" Oui, oui!), marion macguffin (as to Remy getting hotter, -smirk-), Gwise, rubic-cube, Amanda, Mercuriancat (LOL!! Hope the fam. stuff worked out okay), CajunBella91, coldqueen (cool!), Snowchild, vinh, dieCG, Oni Isis, RogueStudent (um, not to real relationship, but…), Thriller (woah, LOL! Thanks so much!!), Nocturnalwitch (oh yay, hope you're still reading despite, er, delays…), Encuentrame, grande bouche (lol with the name!), nuriiko (bwhaha, meant for you to wonder about that), Rogue14, thesupernugget (yes, I'm a missy :)), mistyxtc (OY!), Remy'sRose, gambit-rogue (sorry!), HopelessRomantic84 (lol), RogueFreak, Retrimesuroth, X-Storm _(yay, finally someone likes Wolvie's incorporation)_, Miss Maia, Peanutbutter1, Shweeps, SouthernLoner, Katsu Kitsune (the bees' knees? LOL!), Aiyami Sakura, Remy's Bride, Rogue87 (couldn't agree more, sorry but the updating…), BloodChildOfHate, Catra, Secret Agent Smut Girl, cream tea, anyone? **(yay, -someone- appreciated the boxers!)**, Rogue181, Danielle Britton, Iku, MidniteAngelGoth, ElizabethMarieBennett, GoldFox, Captain Annie (thanks!!), musagirl15, Chica De Los Ojos Cafe, warrior zoe, ishandahalf.

* * *

It takes Two…to Practice

by A Rogue in Rouge

* * *

…Try…

* * *

"Are you sure you're up for this Rogue?"

Rogue blew out a breath, wishing desperately she was wearing her gloves so she could fiddle with them. But that would defeat the whole point.

She settled for a shrug. "Now's as good ah tahme as any." Scott seemed to take this as a positive sign and smiled at her reassuringly.

She avoided Xavier's intent look, knowing what he was flashing to their conversation just the other day. But he didn't say anything. If there was anything she appreciated the most about Xavier, it was his finely honed sense of discretion. It was her business and he would not remark on it unless she brought it up. The others might find the reticence irritating, but she, she had enough secrets to really appreciate it.

Scott held out his hand.

The bareness offered to her seemed almost obscene. How long had she longed to take that hand? And now, now that it was possible, the enthusiasm still felt so, so foreign. Unbidden, an image of Remy's hand overlaid Scott's, a decoration of life's pain against Scott's clean slate. She shook the image away.

And with more confidence than perhaps warranted, she put her hand on his.

She was aware that the others were intently watching her, Professor Xavier, Mr. McCoy, Kitty, Kurt, and Scott, but that was all far from her. She was touching – Scott. It was a novelty, a wish, a hope once abandoned, once denied.

His hand was warm, pale, firm, uncalloused but for the very pads of his fingers – undoubtedly toughened from the usage of his visor.

She marveled and with a sudden swell of something like giddiness, she pushed forward and changed the grip to take his hand.

Holding hands.

It seemed so, so juvenile, innocent, and yet – how often had she longed for that simple pleasure?

And with Scott–

The surge came so quickly she barely dropped his hand in time. _Ain't like visorboy is that great. _Her head spun as intense – ugh, what was it? He could taste it like battery acid at the back of his – no her! – throat. No! She forced her personality forward, shouldering the other to the side. It bowed out without much of a fight.

_No need to be so forceful, chérie._

Unbelievable. Remy? He was–

_T'ought Gambit be de one to volunteer for all de han'-holdin'._

Jealous.

The mere thought of _that_ made her head reel in a whole new direction. And technically, inanely, she informed the psyche she'd been the one who came to him.

_Still yah bed-buddy._

The snide last comment before Remy's psyche slinked off to wherever it normally lodged was enough to jettison her back to reality. She couldn't have those thoughts running around her head with Xavier right there! Her eyes snapped open, only to realize she'd brought both her hands to her head in reflexive defense. She dropped them immediately.

"Rogue are you okay?" Scott was leaning far too close for her oversensitive nerves and she barely managed to restrain the impulse to stumble back. To her left, she could feel Kurt and Kitty hovering, maintaining enough distance not to crowd her – something not possible at the moment, but she managed a shaky upturning of her mouth.

"Ah'm fahne," she gritted out, realizing only too late her jaw had tightened. Scott frowned and the next moment he backed away to let Professor Xavier wheel up to her.

"Perhaps we should put off this practice for another day when you are better rested," he offered the excuse with only the minimal of furrowed eyebrow, though she could tell he really wanted to talk to her. She shrugged her shoulders.

"Ah'm fahne, jus' had a psyche move that didn't expect," it was the vaguest answer she could give. Besides it was true. Remy's psyche had never demanded such attention, usually just sidling up at the oddest moments to give his own little commentary on her day.

He'd, _it_, had never shown that much intense emotion. Why…

But the Professor's brows furrowed further at the answer, probably trying to figure out which psyche of the few she'd absorbed, and she had to keep talking, "It's fahne now. Behsides, gotta face this sometime, puttin' it off won't solve ahnything."

He was still frowning, but Scott was looking to him. He sighed and steepled his hands.

"If you feel assured that's the best course of action Rogue."

She nodded and fervently hoped her mental shields were performing at full strength.

Something, or someone, humphed deep down.

It wasn't going to ruin this for her though.

And yet…

Why didn't she feel satisfied when she held Scott's hand?

* * *

"So ah had practice today."

There was no easy way to bring up the subject so she just put it out there. Remy didn't respond, busy re-arranging them so that she was comfortably tucked against his chest. It was their awkward almost-but-not-quite pre-practice period, which was finally supplanting Remy's slight bad pouncing habit. She wondered but briefly at the change. The further they got, the more – settled he seemed to be becoming.

Nonetheless, she frowned at the lack of reaction to her announcement and stared at his face. The one thing Remy could never ignore was attention. And sure enough, he finally returned the gaze, his lips creasing into condescending amusement.

"_Oui_?"

"Yeah," she went on nonchalantly. "went okay 'cept a psyche acted up." He raised an eyebrow and under his polite interest, the words caught in her throat. She looked away. "Ah calmed it down," she said lamely. He smiled.

"_Bien_, dat means you're gettin' better, _non_?"

"Right."

Remy grinned further and leaned to her neck, layering it with the touch of his lips. "But we already knew dat, didn' we?" he murmured confidentially. She swallowed as an ungloved hand, rough with experience, slipped under her shirt, and nodded shakily.

Coward.

* * *

He backed away almost the second she felt the pull of her powers. He was getting quite good at discerning the change, she noted from far away, panting and more focused on the red range of his mouth.

"_Un secret_," he murmured, unwilling to move further than a few inches away.

It was a dangerous game they played. The more exposed she, he became, the more skin had to be carefully separated. Yet he pushed the bounds as she fingered the shirt he would then strip off, moving to slip off her pajama pants, sliding tantalizingly over her hips. She knew his were only a few days behind.

He nudged her head, burying his nose in her hair far too close to her bare face. "_Un secret_," he prompted again.

It came out before she could stop it, the upchuck of a churning mind. "I joined the X-Men because of Scott," she blurted out. Immediately her stomach turned over and she cringed.

She didn't want to discuss Scott with Remy – there was no reason to, her feelings or old feelings or whatever were her concern not his and why would they be his concern anyway? **Jealous. **It wasn't like he had any claim and it wasn't as if it even mattered what he, if he, felt anyway. They were, were just – _bedbuddies_ the phrase mocked her from the depths of her mind and she clenched inside. Fuckbuddies, bedbuddies – what was the difference?

She stared at Remy – so close to her, he couldn't hide his expression in shadows and distracting motions. He was right there and, his eyes had flicked away. She waited for the feathery distraction of his fingers' stroke against her thigh, her ribs, her breast; he always touched her to break a sudden moment or, well, intensify it. But he was still.

"He was nice ta meh an' actually saw meh as ah person – not ah weapon, like ah found out Mystique did," that betrayal was still sore, enlarged by the shapeshifter's later games, but that wasn't the point of this little confession. "Weh ended up in dis really bad situation an' it was he and the X-Men who got us out." She was babbling, but couldn't he interrupt her?

Rogue opened her mouth to say, something, anything more, but he (finally) beat her to it. "You left Mysty because of Mr. Tighty-Whitey?" His tone was casual, amused – it itched worse than her mutation and she bumped him away. Besides, bringing up Scott's underwear when they were like this, it was obscene. And gross.

"Don't call him that."

He smirked, but it seemed razor-sharp. She shouldn't have brought him up. What answers were she looking for anyway? "And what would y' prefer? High and mighty leader? Boy scout? One eye?" She rolled her eyes when he grinned wider. Wonderful, now he was just being snide.

Remy never had liked Scott, though the feelings were more than mutual. Scott had a hard time getting past the whole worked-for-Magneto business, though he had come to value Piotr's presence. That probably had to do with the fact Piotr was really a sweetheart and had been practically blackmailed into following Magneto. Gambit? The cocky, loner thief had said something flippantly about a contract. Neither his background nor manner ingratiated him with the local team leader. It was like Lance all over again, except Lance was a leader and did believe in teamwork, at least in theory. There, at least, he and Scott had common ground. (Not to mention, mutual affection for a certain X-Men gal.) Gambit and Scott had no such middle ground. And while there were several good reasons for this division, they were usually simply juvenile about it – thus the little lecture at the flag football game and the name calling. Scott just stuck to Gambit, but Gambit would get rather creative depending on his mood.

Remy tilted his head and tapped his chin, mock-thoughtfully. "Hmm, how 'bout visorboy?" Rogue froze. **Jealous. **"Or there's always the old standby: Shades." Her heart beating a little too fast, she licked her lips.

"You wear shades too," she pointed out and the mocking faded from his expression, before he snorted.

"I can take 'em off." Their eyes locked and the ruby of his eyes began to glow. "_Mais _t'ink dat'd be preferred." His voice was carefully neutral.

It wasn't a question, was it?, but she was nodding before she could understand the implications and she had to break eye contact.

"Guys in shades," she said lightly, her voice too high for nonchalance. "The new fashion statement for girls to dig."

And there it was, the brush of his fingertips against the curve of her waist. "Hmm," he murmured, leaning back into her. "I wear 'em 'cuz de light's bit too bright. My eyes work bes' at night, good for business den. Besides," he revealed then paused, but she didn't need him to go on. Inside, the name reverberated: _le Diable Blanc_. It wasn't an affectionate name.

"Their loss," she mumbled and he looked up at her with those gorgeous eyes.

"Yeah," he breathed and then his mouth was on hers.

* * *

Secrets can be small.

Like not being able to sleep her first night in the mansion, wanting to go home for Mardi Gras, admitting she straightened her hair (Remy disapproved), or considering re-growing a certain goatee (Rogue disapproved of that).

Secrets can also be stupid.

Like hating cauliflower for its blandness, not being able to taste for two whole days after that first real taste of Cajun food, refusing to watch certain romantic movies because they actually did make her cry, or admitting he'd actually stuffed a still lit cigarette into one of his pockets because he knew he wasn't supposed to smoke in front of the 'kiddies.' (Though the last one just demonstrated Remy's stupidity in Rogue's mind.)

Certain secrets were slightly more involved. Such as when she'd disclosed a certain Siren experience.

"Let Remy get dis straight, you, Red, de kit-kat, de volcano and Big Bang," he ticked them off and she couldn't help shaking her head at the nicknames he came up with. She tried to think of someone he actually did call by name… "joined together an' put de bad guys in their place?" She nodded and he burst out laughing, a full body laugh that actually shook the bed.

She dove at him, clapping a hand over his mouth. "Will yah shut up?! Ah do have neighbors!"

He kept laughing and after a moment, she felt something cold and slimy against her palm. Did he just- "Eww," she hissed, wiping her palm on the bedspread. Mid-motion, she realized the inanity. Remy had licked exactly how much of her already? Her face burned.

While she was distracted, Remy hopped off the bed. "I'm guessin' _vous _didn' wear yaur X-Men outfits." _(vous is plural you/'y'all' or a more formal form of 'you')_

She shook her head, turning on the bed to sit cross-legged and watch him prowl the room. What was he up to? "No, weh came up with ahur own outfits. Well, Boom Boom's usin' her outfit as her X-Man uniform now."

"Oh?" he angled toward her.

Her next statement can only be attributed to the fact she was pleasantly distracted by the sight of certain sleek muscles flexing in the dim light as Remy stood in front of her closet. "Yeah, black leather an' all."

Remy's eyes literally flared with interest and she realized exactly what she'd just let slip. "Uh, they weren' that impressive or anyt'ing-"

His smile went to Cheshire proportions. "Oh, let m' be de judge of dat."

Thus determined, he prodded her into finding the outfit, in whatever dark corner of her closet it was hidden, only the threat of him searching through _all_ her drawers to find it actually convincing her. Triumphantly, she dug out of the box shoved all the way into the back of her high shelf, extremely aware of the fact he was surveying every scrap he could see.

"_Dieu chere_, got enough dark colors?"

She scoffed. "Ah'm a goth." Turning, she spotted him fingering the terrible orange mesh top she'd worn to the dance crashed by Kurt's transporting beasts. She snatched it out of his grip, but he only chuckled.

"Could use som' more _risqué _stuff too _chérie_."

"You want to see the costume or not?" she snapped, feeling a blush heat up her face. His next comment would most likely be how willing he was to help her with that. Ugh, when she going to stop blushing around him?

Moving back to the bed, she opened the box and pulled out the leather pants, tank top, bands, and bomber jacket. Considering the assortment for a second, she returned to the closet to root out the knee-high lace up boots. Remy whistled.

"When y' said leather, y' not jokin'." She shrugged self-consciously.

"Weh wan'ed ta look all bad ass." Grabbing the pants, she was about to ask him to look away when she realized the absurdity. She was already basically bared to him, in her little briefs and bra. And she was putting on clothes.

Still, as she slipped on the pants and top, she could feel the burning of his eyes trace her every motion – the sliding of leather up her inner knee, the buttoning up of her hip, the slithering of the tank top over her breasts, the draping of the jacket over her shoulders, the tug that secured the thick gloves. It felt surreal, dressing in front of him, and the touch of fabric was somehow magnified, clinging to her skin with intent that made her shiver with heat. It was only after she'd secured her gloves though, that she realized she'd forgotten to fasten the buckles first. But they weren't on the bed – Remy stepped into her back and she could see him twirling one of the studded bands.

"_Laisse-moi_," (_Let me_) he spoke into her ear and reached around her to wrap the first band around her left arm, buckling it with a thief's ease, but taking more time than necessary to let his fingers smooth her inner arm. She was trembling and she tried to stop, but the shallow breathing wasn't helping. He moved to the other arm, drawing her further back against him and she could _feel_ him surround her. His fingers skimmed up her arm, trailing over the jacket sleeve, to trace the contours of her throat. Her eyes shuttered as he grazed her voice box. The leather strap felt thick and heavy against her neck and she tried to remember why she'd gotten it in the first place. To warn away others, show she was untouchable? Remy's fingers smoothed the ornament unnecessarily, sending frissons down her spine. She felt extremely touchable.

Catching her hip, he turned her towards him, taking in the whole ensemble. She didn't care to point out that if he actually took a step back, instead of being thigh-to-thigh, he'd have a better view. "Ah," she swallowed thickly. "The boots-"

Red sparked. "Maybe later," his voice rasped. "Oh I 'preciate dis very much." His iris was super-charged and she was ridiculously reminded of Magma. Except Remy made her hot in a completely different way… "Well, guess Remy knows why y' called y'selves _Les Sirènes_." He was trying to play off the effect she was having, but for perhaps the first time, he wasn't performing very well. She finally blushed, the blood rushing to her face as if long awaiting release. He leaned closer, tone coated in caramel. "Glad yah changed y' ways of catchin' t'ieves." A finger hovered over her cleavage. "Dough I'm sure dis was very," he stretched the word even as the finger ran down her top. "effective."

Rogue was dizzy, giddy, intoxicated. She licked her lips and smirked at him. "Who says ah changed 'em?" He stared before she finally let loose a deep throated chuckle. He joined in, but all too soon he was focused on stripping her out of that costume, feverishly ensuring he palmed every inch of her skin the outfit had covered for just that short period of time – throat and back and shoulders and arms and hips and thighs and calves and breasts.

When he touched her, she was electrified, as he pushed and finally undid those boundaries they'd set up as her bra fell to the floor. She reflexively covered herself, but he just leaned closer and intertwined their hands. "_Du calme_," he breathed and-

He touched her with all the care of Michelangelo, of, of – a lover, caressing with nimble fingers, skimming her with tongue and teeth he sunk to his knees and she couldn't stop trembling.

"_Dieu, tu es belle._"

It wasn't elegant, but it was honest and something inside her just kept expanding.

She gazed down at him. "_Toi _too."

(_You are beautiful…You too_.)

* * *

But slowly the secrets trickled out and began to saturate their time together. It became almost ritual – admitting something before practice and at odd points during, whenever Rogue felt dangerously close.

And sometimes, sometimes she caught herself just whispering – as if all she needed was the very act of telling him without any motivation. Those were the times she really became nervous.

And sometimes, those stupid, small secrets actually meant something.

"Ah've thought of dyin' my streak," her nose rested in the hollow between his chin and shoulder. "Ah love it but-" She could imagine his eyes, those fiery eyes, staring down at her. She was sure he'd understand though. Didn't he have an image inducer? Contacts?

"I like it," he mumbled, brushing a kiss on the top of her head, before bringing up a hand to comb the distinctive strip. "Gives yeh personality."

She laughed. "Yeah? Of who, Pepé Le Pew?" He clucked his tongue, but she got to the retort before he could, pushing lightly to get in a position to look down at him. "Wait, a relentless ladies' man who can' understand 'no' as ah real ahnswer an' speaks bastardized French," she tapped her chin, letting her other hand trail over his chest. Seeing him about to speak, she shushed him. "Hmm, still t'inkin', ah know it reminds me of someone!"

He rolled his eyes and then, without warning, rolled them both over. She couldn't bottle up her laughter. "Hit ah li'l too close ta home?" He cocked his head and she marveled at the fact it felt so, comfortable with him on top of her.

"Dat poor skunk is _mal compris_, _comprends_?"

"Ah'm suhre," she chuckled.

"Behsides, he always chasin' de cat, not a _vrai_ skunk, like I got here." He tugged gently at her stripe and she winced in mock pain. The next thing she knew he had leaned to only an inch away, angling his face to match the contours of hers. His glowing eyes were the only brightness she could see, as he blocked the light above. "An' de _femme_ always ran away."

And her breath caught at the sheer intensity of his gaze, but as always she wasn't quite sure what it was trying to convey. She swallowed at the unasked questions.

But all she could offer was – "Isn't it yah turn ta give a secret?" The glow of his eyes turned to a lighter shade of red and she was amazed she could tell. "Quid pro quo."

He leaned down and stretched his fingers fully under her breast. She caught her breath.

"I actually neva watched dat much T.V., too much t' do. Nah like dere's much on the streets an'way," he said casually and she could've hated him but for the touch of his hands.

It was only later that she wondered if that hadn't been the only real secret he'd given her.

* * *

(You have to check out wikipedia on Pepé Le Pew & Penelope – it's hilarious, especially in light of Rogue and Remy!)

And the French: _mal compris_ – misunderstand; _comprends_ – (you) understand; _vrai_ - true

* * *

And the closer they became, she began to realize, the harder it was to play cool…

* * *

Rogue loved summer. It reminded, just faintly, of the usual weather of her hometown down South. Others might've whined over the sticky heat, high humidity and baking brightness, but Rogue, ah, she savored it. Of course, it'd always been difficult to enjoy such heat appropriately given her head-to-toe attire, but with the advent of her practice, it was a prospect that was becoming increasingly attainable.

And finally, on this, one of the last truly beautiful days of the Indian summer they'd been enjoying, she was going to enjoy it to the hilt.

Well, actually, that had been the combined effort of Kitty and the rest of the Manor girls, who were able to use the pretext of her practice to officially claim the Manor pool – and pull out the string bikinis. The boys were officially banned, leaving the girls to bask blithely by the water's edge.

At least, that was how it was supposed to work out.

"Nice day ain't it ladies."

The voice and sudden shadow interrupted Rogue's diligent act of sun adoration. Above her, the cocky swamp rat looked them all over obviously, to some of the younger girls' twitters, and she twitched. "Jus' _belle_," he caressed the word as if it'd been dipped in edible body paint.

He was blocking her sun; that was the only reason she got up, really.

"What do yah want swamp rat?" she snapped, rising to her feet. She poked him in the chest (his black high necked top reminded her a little too much of practice), feeling a slight rush of excitement at how openly bared she was to him. This risqué enough Gambit? She carefully tucked the emotion inside. "This is gal time ahn' yah ain't invited."

She could feel his eyes run down her and take inventory of the barely-there black string scrap Kitty had cajoled her into buying to celebrate the dawning control of her powers. The headiness turned to pure feminine satisfaction. "Oh let me count de ways..." he murmured, ignoring the last part of her comment. The heat rush his gaze inspired was thrilling, almost decadent.

Now she wasn't sure how, but the next moment she felt a finger fiddling with the dangling tie at her back, the very faintest brush of skin-to-skin contact (she could hardly mistake that sensation), assuring her it was bare.

She swiveled and caught his clothed wrist in a single, smooth motion. Her eyes lidded. "Sticky fingers." The accusation came out huskier than she intended and she felt the beginnings of a blush rise.

It only worsened when she could actually see the heated glint behind those stupid shades he wore. "Sticky skin," he mumbled right back, the rumble echoing her own as he tugged his arm back.

Something told her he totally didn't mind the stickiness he was suggesting and she shivered.

Releasing his arm, she turned and in a few short steps, perhaps with just a little sashaying, she dove into the pool. Really, he was simply too intense sometimes.

Popping up to the surface, she settled her crossed arms on the edge. She flicked her hair out of her face. "Get lost Cajun." She was proud of how steady it came out.

Staring at her for a second longer, he mockingly raised two fingers into a respectful salute. He twisted to face the others girls. "Have a _bon jour _girls." And with a melodramatic bow, he finally walked away.

He was hardly away when a whistle rang out. "Let me just fan myself for a moment." Tabitha slouched dramatically over the edge of her reclining pool chair. "Anyone else a little burned from that?"

"What?" Rogue, readying to submerge, stiffened. Witnesses, witnesses – why was he always able to get her to forget them?

Tabitha eyed her, tipping down her ridiculous sparkly oversized sunglasses. They clashed garishly with her gold sparked bronze bikini, but that was Boom Boom.

"That, my girl," she informed her, "was hot."

"Scorching," came a muttered assent from the peanut gallery and there was another round of giggling. Rogue's spine prickled.

"What y'all talkin' 'bout?" she asked warily, or so she hoped. Nervousness was never a good thing to show when discussing a guy around a pack of teenage girls. It was like waving a bloody steak and a pack of Cubans in front of Wolverine.

Tabitha snorted. "That boy wants the Rogue bad," she stressed the last word long and hard.

"Humph," Rogue let go of the ledge to fiddle with her hair. She tread water. "He flirts with anythahng that looks good in a bra an' thong." A cynical, if true statement.

"Not like that." Rogue nearly went under before remembering to keep treading. Jean?

Tabitha laughed, before slyly, "Should give him a ride."

"Tabitha!" Now that was more like Jean, Rogue thought, feeling the blush creep up her face as the other girls giggled self-consciously, a vicarious thrill of rebellion. For a fleeting instant, just that long, Rogue considered telling them. Cocking a hip, an eyebrow and shooting back, "What makes you think I'm not?" or some other phrase that would just knock them flat. Rebellion…

She submerged, coming up just in time to see the blond shrug. "He's one of the hottest guys in the mansion," the other girl was saying, "practically sex on legs," she talked over Jean's next protest, "and if Rogue's going to be the only one he showers with that particular brand of attention," the words sent an illicit thrill down Rogue's spine, "why shouldn't she?"

Rogue snorted, climbing out of the pool. "Maybe 'cuz ah don't wanta." Tabitha gave an assessing glance up at her and she suddenly felt chilled. Was the truth so evident? She hurriedly wrapped herself in her towel.

But before the Tabby could get in another sly word, Laura spoke up. "What do you mean by hot?"

All heads turned to X-23. Of all the girls there, she was the most unlikely – it'd taken Jubilee, Rahne, and Amara almost an hour to convince her to put on a bathing suit, and honestly, it might've never happened if Logan hadn't walked by and gruffly told the clone to 'go have fun.' Unsurprisingly, she picked a black body suit that reached to her neck. Surprisingly though, it turned out she actually was developing a shape, despite the stiff uniform she usually insisted on wearing.

"Hot?" Jean echoed.

Laura looked them over with her calculating eyes. "You use the term hot with males often. Why?" It was the most Rogue had ever heard her say and she had a feeling she wasn't alone in her surprise. Thus, it took a moment for her to realize exactly what the girl was asking.

Rahne cracked first, clapping a hand over her mouth. That set off Jubilee, Amara, Tabitha and the others went down like laughing dominos.

Laura frowned.

Still, she did get her question answered, prompting a rather amusing debate over the various assets of all mutant males either in or outside of the Manor. (It was particularly funny seeing Laura's expression when someone brought up Logan as attractive, if way old.) Rogue's breath really caught when they came to Remy, but she was reasonably sure her dismissals had been taken as honest, though teased as slightly in denial.

They didn't return to the issue of him liking Rogue.

(Um, could develop that little conversation into a ficlet, if anyone really wanted…)

* * *

It was only later, when they were packing up their stuff and the guys had invited the girls to play volleyball, that she finally asked Kitty.

"What the girls were saying before – they think Remy has a crush on me?" It was – preposterous.

Kitty looked startled at the question. "Well, duh," she peered at the other girl from under her bangs, "It's like totally obvious. You, you haven't noticed?" Rogue felt uneasy under the intense look – Kitty's Valley Girl accent always came out clearer when she was making a point – and simply shook his head.

"He jus' flirts with everyone," she deflected.

"Not the way he does with you." Rogue didn't dare meet her eyes for fear of betraying herself and after a moment Kitty went with a shrug. "Probably because you're like a challenge."

Rogue's stomach knotted. "Of course I am," she shot back a little too sharply and Kitty's eyes widened. "Sorry," she mumbled.

There was a call for the start of volleyball. "Just a minute!" Rogue called back. She eyed the heavy laden Kitty, who was balancing a canvas bag on the opposite shoulder from her cast-clad leg. "Are yah suhre yah don't need help?"

Kitty rolled her eyes, tightening her grip on her crutches. "I'm not an invalid Rogue. I can get inside without help."

Rogue glanced pointedly at her leg. "We all thought yah could showa on yah own too."

Kitty made a face. "Oh haha, like I haven't heard that joke a hundred times already." She lifted up a crutch and made a general wave in direction of the volleyball court. "Now go have fun."

Rogue smiled grudgingly. "Yes ma'am."

It was only as the skunk-striped girl walked away that Kitty realized she'd just missed the prime opportunity to grill Rogue on her own part in the 'Remy' flirtation.

"Dang it."

* * *

She hated having the bathroom down the hall. Especially at moments like these – after the volley ball game, she'd opted to be the last to shower. She liked the lack of rush that entitled her to, as well as the fact it was a lot less stress, given nude situations always made her a bit edgy. Besides, it'd still give her enough time to freshen up for Remy's arrival. Except, in a moment of stupidity, she'd only grabbed her night clothes – and not the underwear needed to complete the outfit. She'd made sure to wash the chlorine out of her bathing suit and there was no way she was slipping the soaking wet bikini back on. And baring going commando, that left one option:

A dash down the hall in only her towel.

Muttering under her breath, she cracked the door open. The hallway was still and quiet, dark as it was probably just about curfew. She ground her teeth. There was no way of knowing if someone was just going to pop up (why hadn't she been born a telepath?) and waiting promised no real assurance. Besides, she didn't have her straightener and her hair was a wreck, even after getting rid of that stiff chlorine residue.

Dash it was.

She took another careful look, deep breath, and raced down the hall. Slippery fingered, her door resisted her first pull, but opened under her second twist. She darted in and leaned back against the door, holding her clothes to her chest, wet bikini wrapped in the towel she used for her hair.

She hated mad dashes.

It wasn't until she took two steps into the room that she realized she wasn't alone. The clothes dropped to the ground, before her hands went to reflexively clutch her towel against her.

"Remy," she licked her suddenly dry lips, "yah early."

He nodded, moving closer from where he'd been hovering by her bed. It occurred to her, as his hungry gaze blazed over the contours highlighted by the thin towel, that she felt more naked before him in just the towel than in bra and panties. Perhaps it was the thought that in one single motion, that was exactly what she'd be.

"Afta tahday's little show, got a li'l impatient," his eyes lingered at the place her towel was tucked in and her grip tightened reflexively. His gaze finally lifted to her hair. He stepped closer and tugged on a loose slowly-drying ringlet. "Knew I'd love de curls," he said with a grin. She tried to smile, but it didn't serve to lighten the mood. Instead, his hand moved down to shadow the curve of her collarbone and then come to rest on the towel.

"Ah can dress in a minute if yah just-"

He laid a finger against her mouth. Projecting calm, he locked eyes with her. "Know dat y' ain't ready for all de way, but dere be more ta sex den the in an' out." She knew her eyes were impossibly wide, but she didn't resist when he tugged her to the bed.

Back to the bed, she stood before him. His hand came to rest on the fold of her towel and she desperately tamped her powers down. She had to breath. In – and out. In – and out. But that only served to remind her of his words and whatever he was planning…

He nudged her chin and abruptly she re-focused on him. "Trust m'." Something in his voice, the flicker of his eyes – was it a statement? A command? A plea? A question? She nodded helplessly.

Remy drew the crease of her towel free, with all the care of twenty-year unwrapping a gift whose packaging they very much liked. Her heart thundered in her ears as he slowly unwound it from her until, at last, she was nude before him. Glowing crimson ran down her body and she thought she saw him swallow. But with a steady hand, he stepped into her – she stiffened involuntarily – and spread the towel out on the bed behind her.

"Lay down," he whispered. Taking a deep breath, she shakily did so. He wasn't touching her yet which was good – she couldn't be positive her mutation was off with the potent mix of fear and anticipation swirling around inside her. It was only when she'd sprawled out that she realized he'd taken something out of his pockets. Gloves.

Her eyes widened. "Remy?"

"Shh, _chere_," he looked at her warmly and she could almost swear she could _feel _the reach of his empathy, soothing. Settling at her side, he dangled the gloves before her. They shone in the dull light, too glossy for silk. "_Satin_," – she couldn't be sure if the answer came from within or without, but she still stared at them without comprehension. "_Ce soir, c'est tout pour moi_." The night all for him? What was that supposed to mean? Her heart beat was quickening, in equal measures of dread and expectation. But he was slipping on the gloves and speaking again, "we gonna let y' have som' experience wit'out all de pressure, _d'accord_?" He brought a hand down to linger over her waist. She shivered, senses flaring back to hyperawareness. He met her eyes again. "Want y' ta try to start out keepin' yah mutation off, but I want y' t' let go ta waht yah feel."

"Bu-" His hand skimmed down to her hip and her mouth closed with a snap. Even gloved, his touch incited a rumba inside. And the feel of the satin – not even the silk had prepared her for this.

"Need y' ta know waht dis is all 'bout Rogue. Den weh can work on y' gettin' used to it," the shivers that seized her seemed directly linked with the pulsing of his eyes. Distantly, she was glad she wasn't the only being effected by the thought. "_D'accord_?"

She was ensnared in the red and black, the pure grace of his hands on her.

"_Oui_." He stared at her for a long second, then leaning, pressed a kiss against her forehead.

"_Bien_," his voice sounded a little hoarse, but she had hardly on time to think as his lips began to trail down her face, baptizing her eyelids, her nose, her cheeks, her lips, her chin… And his hands, like a fine violinist, began to ply her body – sweeping up the curve of her thigh, her hips, dipping in and out of her navel, caressing her waist, her breasts… The satin wasn't textured, instead layering her in slickness, mapping her in polished appreciation. He spanned the flat expanses, fingered the curves, explored the imperfections with all the single-minded absorption of Magellan. And his lips echoed his search, sampling her skin as if laced with ambrosia.

She tried to hang on, she did, but the buzzing of her blood in her ears rang too loudly and she was laid out open before him and she could only burn under his skilled onslaught. Her breath was too short and she grabbed his shirt, digging her fingers into the fabric as if to anchor her to earth. He tisked in her ear.

"Ahaha, don' be greedy," his gloved fingers stroked her hips, the breath of his mouth brushing now over her shoulder. "_Dite-moi un secret_." It was a plea, a command, the crooked finger of a flirt, the piping of a snake charmer. _(Tell me a secret)_

Her eyes were on the ceiling, but she was beyond seeing it. She swallowed. "Ah had a dream las' night," her voice was wobbly, but at least she was speaking. It proceeded in a string of spurts as she fought the commotion of her mind and body. "It was stupid, bu' it was _tu et moi_, weh were walkin' ta school an' then the road turned into a boxca an' we were goin' South ta Mardi Gras."

"To _la Belle Orléans_?" His fingers were wandering over her pelvis and the buzzing in her ears increased in pitch.

"Yeah," she said shakily.

"An' how was it?" The nonchalance was unnerving as she began to throb. He paused to drum his fingers on her and she hazily realized he was waiting for an answer.

"Good," she swallowed again. "_Mais _we end'd up in de bayou somehow. That's all ah rememba."

"Hmm, not 'xactly de wet I have in mind." And without warning, he slipped within her.

Her eyes flew back. "Listen ta meh _chérie_," his voice was low and intimate, fighting back the buzzing that had now reached into her mind. "Don' tense, jus' rehlax. I got yah." His other hand came to stroke her side reassuringly, but she was still shaking.

She could feel him – inside of her and it felt – bizarre. But then he nudged, something, and she felt the reverberations throughout her entire body. Her grasp of his shirt became a death grip.

He was talking.

"_Mon favori_ t'ing 'bout Mardi Gras was eatin' de King's Cake while watchin' de floats, _mais_," he was leaning towards her and pushing harder and she felt something tightening in her, almost to the point of pain. "Never _vraiment_ had _quelqu'un_ to enjoy it wit'." (_Never truly had someone to enjoy it with.)_

They locked eyes and she couldn't understand the intensity they burned with. "Nex' time," he promised and his mouth was on hers and she was taking him in and she was unraveling as the world shifted and he was as moved as she was. Swallowing her – scream? – he unlocked to let her take deep, gasping breaths.

She was shaking. Had she stopped? Her mind was a mess of color and sensation.

And then she felt limp, as if he'd ignited all the energy inside only for it to detonate and disappear.

He brought her down slowly and all she could do was pant like she'd run a marathon. His other hand was still stroking her side.

"Jus' breathe."

She was in awe.

He'd done it all for her. _Want y' to know what all de fuss 's 'bout ma_ _chérie_. He buoyed her.

Finally, he withdrew his fingers and she felt oddly emptied by the motion. "Y' doin' okay, _chere_?" There was no lewdness in his face and she could've cried.

She nodded, only now regaining her breath. Considering for a moment, he reached around her and grasped the towel. Still terrifyingly, delectably, close, he urged her into a sitting position, held against him. She rested there, nose to his shoulder, his fingers absently traveling up and down her spine. She pulled her legs up to curl up next to him and he tucked her in closer. She felt like telling him he could really touch her again, that she was calm again, but she felt too at peace to disturb it.

Rogue wasn't sure how long they remained there, before she finally shyly ducked her head. But she just couldn't talk about what they'd just done – it was still too bright within her – and instead addressed him.

"Do you – I mean, I can –" Despite everything, she could still feel her face flushing, her tongue tying at her attempt to say the words. She gave up for an awkward gesture to the hardness at his waist she could visibly see.

He smiled and almost absently grabbed the hand to press her inner wrist to his mouth. "Dat's sweet _amoureux_, but don' wan' more of a mess, _hein_?"

It took her a second to realize he was saying no. No? What guy in his right mind turned down a handjob?

But he held firm – instead setting her up for another dash for the bathroom and then, bizarrely enough, helping her dress for bed. She wondered at his placidness, but simply didn't have the energy to really question it.

* * *

Drowsing on her bed, she told him about the conversation he missed by the pool. He laughed and in the aftermath, she knew what she should tell him next. She should tell him about what Kitty said, about being obvious, about their impressions and laying low and making tongues wag…

She doesn't and he doesn't let her ponder why.


	8. Again

I am so buzzed! I forgot how much I love this fic!! So now, as WretchedMuse put it, spreading the glee! (Oh and I can't believe I did this, but I cameoed myself – I know, the shame, the horror – so watch for the fleeting glimpse.) Also, I succumbed to temptation! There is a song included by **Avril Lavigne** (I know, pop, but it was prefect for that part): you'll see it. Mazdamiatta suggested Luthor Vandross' 'The Closer I Get to You', but I would suggest checking out _Bruce Springsteen's 'Let's Be Friends (Skin to Skin)'_ for the real feel of this story. I'll have more suggestions later…

_Um, cue the angst!_

People thanking me, lol! And I was itching to write that pool scene for ages!

Remy is _so _Pepé! (though it would be interesting to see the tables turned on him…) More compliments on Remy!! Yay! (Oh mention of drinks this chapter: mixed-drinks/com, check under alcoholic liqueurs)

* * *

**"You've got them inching towards some sort of resolution, but I won't complain about the pace since I'm enjoying the journey so much." _Inching? –goggles-_ Maybe my time scale has been too influenced by people like Seven Sunningdale and Lucia de'Medici but this is really fast! At least, in comparison to a real relationship – the depths of intimacy they're reaching for they're cramming in a few weeks, which I would think should normally take months honestly. (I mean going from kissing to a form of sex in less than six chapters?! Maybe I just haven't read enough instant romances…)**

**But of course, it's all for a reason. I'm balancing the speed of different levels of intimacy – physically vs. emotionally vs. powers vs. relationally vs. action vs. mental development. There are a lot of different facets to consider. They started out with powers, then went on to physically and the rest is kindof coming out in bits and spurts. Honestly, it's all really fun to explore.**

**Which brings me to my next point. _Like I've stated, sex is not the focal point of this fanfiction, which we'll be seeing when we get to Remy's part... –rubs hands together cackling-_ I do not intend to write porn simply because I feel that that just indulges voyeurism more than actual understanding of a romantic relationship. With a few exceptions, granted, the best love scenes I've seen have been the most succinct and not extremely explicit. That's what I'm going for. The fact is intimacy is the potential of sex and it involves a lot more than just the actual maneuvers of sex. So, that's what I am focusing on. Ishandahalf, you articulated that so well.**

* * *

Thanks to all my reviewers!! I LOVE YOU ALL!!

smile for me (IC!! Yay!), musariven, dieCG, wiccamage, Encuentrame, dreamschemer, Nocturnalwitch, Catra (lol:) ), Katsu Kitsune, Goddess of Fire and Ice, Wiccamage (good, I think), X-Storm, Peanutbutter1, JollyRoger, sassy18 (-big, big Grin!- I'll get to Magneto's briefing but honestly I don't the Siren identities were well known or perhaps considered important, and nicknames so fun!) Conquistador Imp, mistyxtc, mercuriancat, coldqueen ('skirting the line' oy I know!, um movie couple? You know something I don't? 'Cuz it don't look like it's happening…), cream tea anyone (yes!), Captain Annie, nuriiko, drthmik, rubic-cube, gambit-rogue, GWise, Secret Agent Smut Girl, oni isis (plot is the funniest part!), MidniteAngelGoth, ElizabethMarieBennett, mazdamiatta, Rogue181.

ajax41 – "Gambit is introduced as a major player but the story relies on Rogue's perceptions so it is unclear just how true her image of him is. We get to know him as she does." – I **love** that you picked up on that!

thriller – you wrote as you read – that's so cool!! I've done that before and it's always neat to see the final result; not to mention amusing, lol! About the 'mutual affection' – affection can be romantically-neutral and that's the best thing about the X-Men, the affection spreads out. Scott feels affection for 

Kitty, similar to that for Rogue. Lance, of course, has romantic affection for Kitty. And the dressing scene sooo much fun, when you think about, getting undressed gets all the attention, but dressing itself is surprisingly intimate. NEVER APOLOGIZE FOR A LONG REVIEW!!

* * *

It takes Two…to Practice

* * *

…Again

* * *

She silently dared him to make the first move. When it didn't come, she hitched an eyebrow.

"Well swamp rat? Yah all talk, no action?"

She could read the line of tension in his shoulder and smoothly dodged the first swing, barely missing his following other hand grab for her hip.

Rolling on the balls of his feet, he easily moved back to circle her. "Aw _chere_, y'know afta Gambit warms up, he make all de _filles_ _swoon_."

She snorted, blocking his forward thrust. Feeling his foot hook her ankle, she stepped into him, feeling his eyes wander and his hands–, before throwing up her knee to the back of his. She pushed and he went down, fingers failing to find purchase on her slick uniform. Rogue had to grin. "_Au contraire;_" she said, looking down at him. "yah got no idea how long ah've wan'ed ta get yah down on the mat."

His eyes fired up, and even though she knew she'd thrown him that bone, it still made her heat indecently inside. "All yah had t' do was ask _chérie_." And with the ease of a jungle cat, he sprang back to his feet. She eyed him warily as they circled again.

She could tell he wanted to he wanted to pull out his bo staff, his fingers kept flexing, though that could very well be simply for the utterly distracting effect it had on her. But this was strictly hand-to-hand, no powers but that which was unavoidable (like Gambit's d- agility), which led to some grumbling. Cyclopes insisted on such matches at least once every two weeks, usually weekly, and this time she'd been paired with Gambit. She half-wondered if Remy had rigged it, she wouldn't put it past him, but actually, considering the thief's skill level, few could take him in such restricted circumstances. He moved like liquidity was a secondary power, peppering his effortless glides and lunges with taunts that slipped under one's skin like UV rays. This meant most people dreaded drawing him, especially Bobby, who always seemed to end up in a particularly awkward situation. (Last time, he'd ended up with the mother of all wedges, though exactly how that had occurred was beyond her comprehension.) Due to her mutation however, she'd had considerable training in hand-to-hand from both Mystique and Wolverine, and Scott had told her she was probably the closest thing to a challenge for Gambit, other than Wolverine himself.

Thinking of Wolverine… She almost fell for a feint to her right, spinning out of his grip when he slid left instead. Rogue wondered if it would be cheating if she tried to access him directly, rather than just benefiting from some extra endurance and durability, but immediately dismissed the thought. She didn't need him to beat Gambit and besides, she 'tskked' from under sweaty bangs at his grabbiness, this was way too fun.

Oddly though, the thought seems to summon another psyche and she felt a tingle run all the way to her fingertips. Gambit.

She recognized the signs – each mutant she'd ever drawn from had a different feel of their mutation: an accelerating feral heat/itch and restlessness, an echo of fur and a bizarre balance that transcended 

purely physical space, an intense centeredness that longed to decentralize, a pull in the blood from magnetism. Gambit felt like vibration, coiled energy inside and a consciousness of that around – all beggin' ta be quickened.

_De chérie need a hand?_

Gambit finally managed to clip her side and she half-sprawled. There was an edge of mocking in the question and she frowned mentally, elbowing her opponent in the solar plexus when he got too close before springing back to her feet. _Ah cin take care of yah on mah own._

_Oh chere, de only t'ing better den bein' wit' you ou' dere, _she felt the psyche shift within her and the timber of the voice bottomed out, _'s bein' inside y'._ A thrill ran through her unbidden as she watched Gambit rub his chest with a smirk, his talented fingers splayed and slender–, but she forced the distraction away.

_Yah gonna distract meh or help meh? _She shot back and she felt the chuckle go straight to her center, wherever that was.

_N' sure which is funna._

She grit her teeth and prepared to shove the psyche back; she can't afford the distraction as Gambit slid into stance again, but apparently the psyche made up his mind. And she felt the vibration accelerate to ripple down her entire body.

'_m all yaurs chere. _A pause as she drew up straighter. Across from her, Gambit's eyes narrowed. _Behsides, won't want ta end dis too fast._

She didn't have time to ponder the addition as she flew into offense, feeling the energy rocket her every movement. How the hell did he contain all this, potency in his very fingertips? She could feel it radiate the very air around her.

She felt a wolfish grin settle on her face. Time to play.

He wasn't prepared for the sudden onslaught, but nevertheless he held his own – and she knew that they were touching way too much, but she didn't, couldn't care. Usually, given his lankiness and the aid of his staff, Gambit favored a slightly more distanced strategy. But this was her and he seemed determined to keep her as close as possible, flaunting himself in front of the danger of her skin. Not that it was such a danger to him anymore. And she knew she was giving into the temptation just as much.

It was – illicit. Letting fingers trail, a hand at the waist, the chest, twisting to maintain proximity only to dance away the next moment, in full view of the DR Control Room.

And she burned.

Finally, he caught her, back to his chest and she could feel the heat of his breath curl against her cheek as he leaned in, locking one arm at her side and the other across her torso. "Look like I cau't de skunk." His breath puffed as he couldn't completely control his pant. A tingle went straight down to her toes, but she focused.

"Reahlly?" she rocked back into him and she could feel his reaction, grip hardening reflexively. Quick as lightning, she bent her knees - and pulled. Gambit flipped over her, to land with an inelegant slam. Reversing the hold on her arm, she swiftly straddled him, careful to distribute her weight to its max advantage.

She couldn't help the smirk. It was about time she got to turn the tables on him.

The flow of kinetic energy wavered, she must have exhausted the psyche – Gambit and the thought amused her. The psyche retracted and she carefully let it fade. Looking down at her challenger, she flicked the hair out of her face, before leaning slightly forward, "Knew y'all talk."

His free hand wound up her thigh, indecently high, and he peered at her with those ember eyes. She could practically _see_ them switch into hypnotizing. "Now don't be dissin' Remy," his tone was low and throaty, pleasantly reverberating through her lower body. "Not heard any complaints." She threw him back a smoldering look, but with utter precision, shifted to knee his arm in place. At his hiss, she smirked and reached down with her ungloved hand.

"Game's up Remy an' guess who de winner is?"

Her hand pressed against his stubbly face, she looked down at him with a grin.

It took her a second to realize there was something wrong with that picture. She wasn't absorbing him…

It took her another second to realize that was what's wrong.

She's not absorbing him –

and she's supposed to be.

He stared at her and she wasn't sure who was more shocked.

There was a beeping as the simulation ended and she nearly jumped off him.

"See?" she said aloud, but felt strangled with shock inside. "The gal always wins."

His face was undecipherable as he slowly got to his feet, but that was the last of her concern. She didn't absorb him, she didn't absorb him, she didn't absorb him – it pounded like a mantra and it was absurd because she'd been working so hard for that. But that was the point. Each and every time she'd been working – and this time it had simply happened. She hadn't had to deactivate her mutation; it had already been off – when she'd even been intending to use it, if for but a moment to show her victory.

She didn't absorb him.

Rogue could hardly breathe.

* * *

Rogue was in a daze during school. Nothing could penetrate the haze of unexpected mutation development, nothing that is, exact a certain pack of morons crowded around a certain red-headed underclassmen on the outside quad…

"Hey does the puppy want a Milkbone?"

Unfortunately, shortly after her return, Rahne had gotten hit by a field hockey stick 'accidentally' in gym and snapped at a teacher – literally. Mutant haters had a field day.

"I'm waiting to see if she'll lick herself."

Rogue grit her teeth. Bigoted, obnoxious morons. Composing her best sneer, she shoved the nearest idiot out of the way, breaking the ring around Rahne. The younger girl looked at her with barely disguised relief as Rogue walked over to her.

"Don't you guys have betta things ta do, like remedial math?" she tossed out.

"Well if ain't little Miss Cover Up," the obvious ring leader, Chad: big, brawny and blond, recovered, lighting on her instead. He looked around at his friends, tauntingly confidential. "Whatdya think she's got under there, scales?"

There was a leer from at least one and she felt disgusted as their eyes flicked down her outfit. The circle closed up again. Immediately a _Chere_ and _Watch it bub!_ flared in her head. She pushed the psyches back. She could handle this, at the very least, on her own.

"Oh gee, how long did it take fa yah ta come up with that one?" She cocked her hip. "No wonda you couldn't get a single ansah in math rahght." She should know – Chad was in advanced math with her, but obviously due only to family connections, not actual talent. There was a muted snicker, causing Chad to tense.

"Shut up mutie." After an intent look, Chad glanced around. Rogue's spine prickled. No teachers. No they weren't, Rogue couldn't believe it – they were in school. She shifted more in front of Rahne.

"Rahne get outta here," she said under her breath, knowing Rahne's heightened hearing would be able to pick it up. She started to regulate her breathing, calming down her mutation just in case – but it was hard, this was the exact situation that came to mind whenever the words 'defensive activation' came up.

Chad's grin turned ugly, as two of his friends shifted closer. "Whatcha gonna do mutie? Can't use your powers."

"Like ah would need ta t' deal with ya thugs," she shot back heedlessly.

Rahne stepped closer and gripped her partially-gloved hand, and if it had been any other time, Rogue would've been touched by the daring show of solidarity.

"Well isn't that sweet, the muties are holding hands," Chad sing-songed. "Maybe I want to too."

He grabbed her other hand.

Rogue's world flexed – no! She had to defend – but her control was already being tested and she was strung between Rahne and Chad. Breath, she had to breath – He was strangling her hand. No, no, no! Her mutation was pressing at her – it only had to wait until Rahne was safe – no! But – "Rahne, let go," she hissed as quiet as she could. The other girl looked at her, pale skin paling even more "let her go!" and Rogue was trembling. She didn't want to absorb a human – but the pressure was building and – she'd done it this morning, hadn't she? With Remy –

But this wasn't Remy.

"Why Wishbone, what's she gonna do?"

He tightened his grip and the color leeched from the world.

_No._

With all the force of an overheated boiler, the absorption sucked him in – and Rahne, but the girl slipped from her grip almost immediately. _I'm sorry Rogue!_ He was done within a few seconds, falling victim to gravity and her hands sped to her head in anticipation of the fight.

Chad was so – confused, something felt different and why were his friends staring at him like that? He tried to put his hands down but –she– resisted – _yah not me, yah not me, yah not me. Ah'm not you! _She pushed, but he resisted now._ What, what the hell? What the f- did you do to me mutie!?_

Another teen bumped into her, _**What the –**_

The world outside disappeared into a mesh of static as she sunk to her knees.

* * *

"I want her out of the school!" Rogue would've flinched from the principal's volume if she didn't feel so already exhausted. She wondered vaguely if this was worse or better than if Mr. Kelly had remained principal.

"Now Mr. Jameson, I think it's been made clear that Rogue was not to blame for today's events. They were using physical force on her and her friend." Professor Xavier's voice, as always, was calm and logical. She found herself regretting the fact he didn't just smooth this over with his powers.

"She used her powers."

"Purely defensively and there was no real harm rendered to her attacker. A critical part of my Institute's mission is to help mutants gain control of their mutations so they are not a danger to themselves or others. Rogue is still progressing in this way and as you can see," Professor Xavier gestured to her clothes and she resisted the impulse to shrink away, "she does take precautions."

"Obviously not enough – she shouldn't even-"

The Professor smoothly interrupted him. "The school board specially decreed they could come back to school." He steepled his hands. "To be perfectly frank with you Mr. Jameson, this incident has made me nervous for my student's safety. If my students become subject to such abusive prejudicial actions, I may have to resort to legal measures." The principal looked boxed in and Rogue couldn't blame him; she had to marvel at the Professor's diplomacy. Mr. Jameson frowned harder.

"I want her gone for the rest of the day," Professor Xavier raised an eyebrow, "but she may return tomorrow if she can prove then that she's not a hazard to other students. If there are any problems-"

"There won't be any."

Rogue would've been more relieved if that hadn't started up another war in her head.

* * *

She hated absorbing non-mutants.

She'd forgotten exactly how hard it was – even before Apocalypse, she hadn't absorbed a non-powered human since her breakdown. She wasn't positive why exactly they were harder on her mentally, but Professor Xavier had theorized that when she absorbed mutants, her mutation focused on absorbing the mutant's abilities, in addition to their psychic and physical energy. With non-mutants, there was no such 'distraction' and all of the absorption became focused on their physical and psychic selves. Thus, why humans succumbed to her powers quicker and for longer.

Rogue didn't really care. She just hated absorbing non-mutants.

It also didn't help that recently she'd only exclusively absorbed people who not only knew of her powers, but was prepared for their activation – had even volunteered to go through the process. Logan, Kitty and Kurt had all been mentally prepared to have their psyches drawn from and the resulting impressions had been almost calm when she'd absorbed. They'd barely fought her on it, instead allowing her to arrange them in the back of her mind, rather than trying to swamp her identity or steal physical control. They had known they were only shades and, and – she hadn't been stealing. She hadn't been stealing their very souls, just accepting what they'd offered. (And actually, if she'd cared or had the mental composure to consider it, absorbing the Brotherhood or even other X-Men unexpectedly in the past hadn't been so bad as they had still known of her powers. And they knew it was temporary…)

Chad had no such understanding.

Between him and the fleeting impressions of Rahne and Josh (short, reddish-brown hair that his mother said came from her grandfather-), her mind was a wreak. They wanted out, freedom, escape, to be 'real' again – all things she couldn't give them. And then the two boys spouted anti-mutant garbage that only served to incite Rahne and every other mutant psyche in her mind into a mish-mash of noise.

She could barely sort through it – she didn't want to! Just why wouldn't they leave her alone! _You, you stuck me in here bitch!_ _**Don't call her that you stupid- **_– but the only other option was Xavier and he didn't know about Remy. And she couldn't bear that on top of everything else.

Rogue curled up into a ball.

She didn't hear him come in – not so unsurprising considering his stealth, but he'd never gotten quite so close without her realizing. It was only when the bed depressed underneath her, that she knew he'd come.

Damn.

She'd been hoping he just wouldn't show up – give her space. Something inside her laughed. Since when did Remy give her space?

_Oh, who's this? The mutie have a boyfriend?! _She gritted her teeth against the sneering voice.

"Remy, ah gotta a headache, I'm reahlly not up fa practicing." She didn't look at him, just kept her eyes closed and tried to focus on the de-stressing exercises the Professor had taught her.

"Already dis excuse?" Purely from his tone of voice, she could see the pout, the splayed hands and– "An' we ain't even got to da real good stuff." –the inevitable drop into lechery. Chad sneered further, but she didn't take the bait, either of them. Maybe if she ignor- no, that wasn't going to work but what were her options?

But then, Remy surprised her. "Heard what happened today." It was quiet, edged with, fury?

She opened her eyes.

His face was shadowed, but he was directing a fierce gaze at her bedspread and she had a good feeling that it was standing in for something, someone else. She rubbed her temples.

"'m not surprised," she muttered. "Ah nearly got expelled."

_Expelled?! You should've- _She pressed her fingerpads into her forehead and deftly, fingers caught the edge of her chin and he was directing her gaze to him.

"Ain't y' fault Rogue." The tension in his jaw indicated who he really blamed. Chad practically snarled inside.

"Mah mutation," she said simply, unable to defend herself.

Remy's eyes sharpened. "_Chere _it was self-defense! Y' can't-" the muscle in his jaw flexed as he stopped himself. "Dat ain't de point anyway," he muttered. "How yah holdin' up?" The tone came out with too much edge to sound truly concerned, but she appreciated the effort.

"Ah feel like Sabertooth an' Wolverine decided ta go at it in mah head." His eyes flickered at the first name and she felt a shadow vibration instead. But it was there and gone and there was too much other turmoil to wonder about it.

"Dat bad?" he asked, his face folding into sympathy. She didn't bother to nod. "Talkin' 'bout de Badger-man, can' he just kick de _homme_'s ass?"

"_Hommes_," she corrected automatically and his assessing gaze sharpened; it took her a second to realize he was making a sincere suggestion, but she couldn't help a snorting laugh.

"Ah'd have ta get the psyches t' be 'physical' an' that's just a bigger headache," he was furrowing his brow and she could tell he didn't get it, couldn't understand that the psyches were emotions and thoughts and memories and voices that just pervaded her, rather than nice, neat little bundles that could duke it out with each other. Getting them to that point took a lot of effort and concentration (not to mention Professor Xavier's help) to put them into such boxes, separating them completely from herself and the other psyches. But it was too much to explain and she just went on, "Behsides, that'd only work f' a little while. Then have ta go through this all ova again. Betta ta get it over with now."

Remy didn't look convinced, but didn't question her decision. Instead, "What about de Prof?" She winced slightly.

"There's ahlready enough minds in mah head," she said dryly, then with a little shrug, "Behsides, he might wonda 'bout the big Remy psyche in mah mind."

He stared at her with a carefully blank look, which made the little hairs on the neck of her neck prickle. But then he reached for her, carefully twining his arm around her waist, tugging her back with him until he was arranged against her headboard, her curled up by his side. She had no strength for resistance, just rested in the comfort of his closeness. She laid her aching head against his chest, wishing the peace would permeate into her mind.

Smoothing her hair with his fingers, he finally responded. "It dat big?" The question was light and for the life of her, she couldn't tell if it was idle or purposeful.

"It's big enough," she said tersely, but somehow not looking at him helped her discomfort. She sighed. "It ain't that bad though; it jus' kinda hangs out in the back of mah mind. Like Logan, Kitty and Kurt; they all just kinda stay in the background, 'less they really got something ta say." His fingers feathered her neck and a trill went down her spine.

"Mine don' mouth off, do it?" She could guess at the layers of that question, especially considering the combination of touch and question, but just shrugged.

"Less than yah do," she said slyly. The psyche responded to the attention predictably and she could feel the presence swell in her mind. However, that only set off Chad. _You have him in here too? What, he not enough of a loser boyfriend that you had to suck him in to? __**Gambit not appreciate y' tone boy. **_She winced as the two psyches clashed. "'Cept he's not so hot on Chad bein' up there."

"Chad? Dat one of de boys y'absorbed?" She made an 'hmm'ing sound. Nodding jostled her head too much.

"Dat _bibitte _de reason f' de warzone, _hein_?" It took a second for the term to translate, the Remy in her head picking it up rather gleefully and she made a face.

"Callin' him names ain't gonna help," she muttered, not sure if it was to the Remy in front of her or the one in her head. She brought a hand up as Chad's temper went off, again.

Remy shifted behind her and she could feel, feel?, his lips thin. "Well, w'at would de Prof do?"

She opened an eye to look back at him. His face was oddly determined. "Uh, well, he'd get meh ta completely rehlax befa gettin' inta mah head. He'd talk ta de psyches and if he couldn't get 'em ta back off, he'd push them back an' wall 'em away from meh so ah could get some peace. He wants meh ta start doin' that, but-" she shrugged a little uneasily. It was hard to articulate the guilt she had connected to the process. She already felt like a prisoner in her own mind – and forcing other people, even psyches, into even more imprisonment, it made her sick. Chad snapped at her with fury. _Oh, you feel bad, do you?_ "Takes a lotta energy," she hedged. "Behsides, haven't had ta wit' the recent psyches. They usually leave me well enough alone." She buried her head in his chest. She didn't want to talk about it more, just wanted his presence to soothe her. Even if it couldn't.

"Maybe _je t'aide_?" She looked up at him questioningly. Help her further than just being here? "I could get de psyches t' leave yah 'lone," she felt the edges of his empathy caress the fringes of her mind. The Remy in her mind seemed to gravitate to the sensation, but Chad, and Josh, drew back snarling. _What's the filthy mutie doing?_ And shock of all shocks, Logan, of all people, defended him. _**Putting you in the place you're supposed to be brats.**_

Still, she shook her head, despite the aching. "Ah need ta do this on mah own, not depend–"

Remy frowned. "_Chere_, y' not read de X-Men handbook or somet'ing?" She raised an eyebrow. He, Gambit, was lecturing her on being an X-Man? "Can't do everyt'ing on yah own _amoureux_. Everybody need help _parfois_." (_sometimes)_ A hand slipped down to rest on her hip and shift her even closer. "No' dependence _chérie_," he corrected. "jus' some help sa y' can get some shut-eye and work on dis fresh tomorra, _d'accord_?"

When he looked at her like that, she simply couldn't not believe him. Believe in him.

"Okay," she said quietly. The smile he gave her was almost dazzling, even more so because it wasn't his normal showy grin. "Ah need ta go ta school tomorra anyway an' it'd be better…" she trailed off as the smile turned to a frown.

"Y' not even takin' de day off?"

She shook her head. "Gotta prove ta Jameson ah'm not a school haza'd." His eyes flared, but whatever comments he obviously had, he kept to himself. Instead he scooted up to get into a sitting position, adjusting so her head was in his lap.

Fingers splaying in her hair, he lined up their eyes and she couldn't help asking, "Yah need eye contact ta do this?"

He shook his head. "Nah really, but it helps. Somet'ing 'bout de red an' black." His eyes were becoming liquid and she felt the headiness that the look always inspired, underlain with the static brush of his empathy to her senses.

"They flare," she murmured. She felt him tense beneath her and without really thinking, she reached up a hand to touch his closest leg. "It's nice."

He stared at her and then shook his head. "Y' one of a kind, Rogue. Now jus' – reahlax," his voice lengthened the words and she felt the push of his power echo, enfolding her senses, blurring the sharpness of the voices in her head. "Dose boys are gonna get ti'ed out and mind dere own business." She couldn't help a wry comment.

"Yah not gonna go 'Now you are getting ve-ry sleepy.'" He tapped her nose with fleeting poise.

"No smart remarks, missy." And she giggled even as the two humans in her head hissed in anger. They throbbed in rebellion and the red in Remy's eyes intensified.

"Leave de _fille_ alone, boys. Guests ain't supposed ta be so rude."

Guests? _Guests can leave!_ But Chad's voice seemed dimmer.

Remy clucked his tongue, the red shimmering like fire. "Y' new so we'll 'xcue yah some, but just _calme_," he caressed the word in the French as she secretly loved and Chad and Josh's disdain became even more distant. "Shh…" and with every pulse of his eyes, she felt them become even muted. The Remy inside her echoed the words and she felt the rest of the psyches settle further back, blocking the lone dissenters, with almost – respect? "Y' gonna jus' rest – an' breathe." She wasn't sure if he was talking to them or her; her thoughts seemed like molasses and she could do nothing but obey.

She wasn't sure how long they lay there, breathing in sync, the ruby of his eyes shining amidst the dark stillness of her mind.

But finally, he broke the silence. "Y' good _chérie_?" his voice was sacrosanct in the silence.

"Yeah," she breathed and with utter care, he slid himself from beneath her, fingers trailing reluctantly through her hair. He stood for a moment at the side of her bed, seeming almost hesitant to leave. But after a second, he turned away, brushing by her nightstand. "Thanks Remy," she managed to say and he paused.

"Don' mention it," he said, turning to flash her his normal charming grin.

It was only after he left, when she finally reluctantly got up to dress for bed, almost indecently relaxed, that she realized it was the first time they hadn't practiced.

Huh.

* * *

Rogue wasn't quite sure what woke her up the next day. Since Kitty wasn't currently residing in the room, she'd had to rely on a real alarm clock for the past few weeks rather than her overly-perky-for-early-mornings roommate.

Still, there was that in-built sense when one's slept past their usual time… Grumbling, she blearily opened her eyes to peer at her clock.

7:30.

Hmm. 7:30?! She shot out of bed, grabbing the alarm clock. The X-Men usually left the manner at 7:35 to get to school – there was no way she was going to make it! Why hadn't the alarm gone off? She was sure she'd set it last night. Despite, or rather because of, her complete non-excitement over 

heading to school the next day, she'd made sure to set the alarm. But there was the button innocently in the 'off' position.

She didn't have time to ponder the mystery. She had to get dressed!

Regardless of her haste (she'd tried to stint on her gothic makeup but after yesterday's little disaster, it was too unnerving to go without) and the fact the psyches in her head actually hadn't acted up (Remy's charm seemed to be holding bizarrely enough), by the time she sailed into the kitchen and her eyes immediately darted to the clock, it was 7:45.

Damn it. As a general rule, transport to school waiting five minutes max. Any later and you were on your own. Rogue made a face. That meant trying her luck with Logan –

Except it wasn't him lingering over a cup of coffee in the kitchen.

"Mornin' _chere_." She blinked as Remy smiled at her – and for a moment he looked odd in daylight, suited in his trench coat. Of course there was also the fact it was early morning. Remy was infamous for his distaste of mornings, especially early DR sessions, and given he didn't have to attend school, he tended to sleep in whenever he could.

"Uh, mornin' Remy." She bit her lip, eyes going back to the clock. "Yah ain't seen Logan around, have yah?"

He shook his head. "_Non_." His eyes flicked to the clock as well. "Y' need a ride?"

"Uh," it was odd interacting with him civilly outside her room and she wavered for a second. But a ride was a ride. "That'd be great." He flashed a grin at her, keys suddenly in hand. At the door, he stepped back, opening it for her. "Afta yah, _mademoiselle_."

She raised an eyebrow. "Since when am ah a lady ta yah?" Still she walked through and then he was behind her, far too close.

"Oh, Remy be makin' suhre of dat." The heat of his proximity was far too familiar, fingers ghosting over her hip, and she suddenly second-guessed the wisdom of her decision. But he was brushing past her and opening the garage.

"_Allons-y_ ta mah belle Marie." She stopped in her tracks.

"Marie?" she hoped her voice sounded sarcastic as the garage door went up to show two beautifully polished Harleys that made just about every other guy, and some of the girls to be honest, drool. "Yah named y' bike?"

Remy raised an eyebrow. "Like de wolf-man doesn't got a name for dis pretty, little ride?" He touched the handlebar of the furthest bike with worshipful fingers, a touch far too much like a caress– Rogue focused on the fact Logan grumbled in her head.

"Wo'n't call it that in front of him," she said wryly, sidestepping the question. "An' if he sees yah touchin' it, he might think yah gettin' ideas swamp rat." The title came out awkwardly and she cursed mentally. But their normal 'outside' repartee just wasn't coming. He didn't tease her for sounding like she cared, instead, turning to pat his own fine machine.

"Oh no, Marie's all Remy needs an' Wolvie knows dat." He slid onto the bike with fluid grace. When she stayed in place (did he have to call it that?), he raised an eyebrow. "Y' comin' _chere_?"

She squared her shoulders. "'Course." She slid on behind him, suddenly extremely aware of just how close they'd have to be, especially if he drove at all like she'd witnessed before. And yet, as she clutched her thighs and arms around him, it occurred to her that she'd already been closer to him. Her heart rate accelerated as he revved the engine and took off.

And soon, she'd be even closer.

* * *

Riding with Remy was all speed and exhilaration, leaning curves and defiant ups and downs. She could feel the vibration of the engine, the heat, the sheer power – the freedom – radiate through Remy and then into her. It was intoxicating and she shuddered, thoughts spinning past her mind almost surreally. She'd have to get him to let her drive sometime and then he would hold onto her, whispering _interesting_ suggestions into her ear, and when they got off, he'd put his arm around her waist and he would show the whole world – what?

They stopped and the fantasy disappeared as if it had never been. She got off the bike, her knees unexpectedly refusing to firm and his arm immediately steadied her. She ignored the smug look on his face, feeling a blush rise. "Uh thanks."

"Any time _chere_," he purred and she hated him for his composure, tugging away. Except somehow he'd snagged her right glove and it slipped off. She reached for it with the other hand, but he merely deftly wisked the other off.

"Gambit!" He fixed her with an earnest look, the smugness melting away.

"Y' trying t' prove yah not a hazard, _non_?" She stared at him in disbelief.

"Ah absorbed people yestaday!"

Remy engaged the kickstand and dismounted the bike, fingers latching under her chin. They weren't gloved and she shivered at the familiar sensation. But again, amazingly, her control asserted itself. Her gloves had disappeared, no doubt into one of his d- pockets. "Y' not a hazard Rogue, you an' I both know dat. All yah gotta do is show 'em." She scowled, but it was only half-hearted.

"Ah absorb someone else, yah mah next victim."

He didn't tease back, just kept eye contact and utterly sincere, "You won't."

She swallowed and behind her, the bell rang. "Ah gotta go." After a moment, he nodded and pulled back. Still not entirely steady, she turned away and started walking, too hazy to even recognize the first stirrings of certain psyches in her mind. Only ten steps from him, she was plowed into and went down.

"Oh my good- I am so sorry!" Without warning, the apologizing brunette offered her a hand up, which Rogue took without thinking. "Are you okay?" The girl released her hand and Rogue just stared. "I'm really sorry, but – um, I'm kinda late." And finally Rogue nodded. And as quick as she'd appeared, the tall classmate was gone, speeding into Bayville High.

She hadn't recognized the girl and she'd had to have been someone really out of touch with school gossip because – She hadn't absorbed her. Hand to hand. Bare to bare. Rogue's mind was reeling. She hadn't absorbed her. For no good reason.

"_Chere_, you okay?" Remy eyed her curiously, but she was more than okay. She was, she was –

Was this how normal felt?

Remy took a step forward, but before he could say anything more, she was against him. Kissing him. Kissing him with more euphoria than she ever had before in her incited passionate moments.

Just because she could.

She could taste the tang of coffee and sugar (a donut perhaps), but he was warm and welcoming against her and she could've flown. And then he was clutching her and their tongues were tangling and she could feel the beat of his heart tattooing against her, her own beating a fierce staccato that raced ahead.

She drew back and panting, it took her a second to realize why his face looked weird. She recognized the heavy, burning gaze – but it was lit up more than ever before and he seemed, exposed. Her eyes dropped to his lips and she saw the purplish impression of her lipstick bruising his mouth. She flushed hotly.

Just what had she done?

"Ah," her voice caught as his hungry eyes flew to her mouth, "ah gotta go."

And she flew into the school as if the devil was behind her…

Rogue wasn't sure if she was ready to face him. She told herself she was being ridiculous; hadn't she faced him after the shower incident? But still, her teeth fretted her lip.

That night, she was just turning the corner when she spotted Logan by Remy. She froze instinctively, but whatever the two had been talking about was obviously done, as Logan turned on his heel and stalked off in the opposite direction without seeing her. Remy looked after him with a brooding frown that immediately set of warning bells in her head. And all former embarrassment was unimportant.

She walked down the hall and Remy's face cleared up instantly.

"Dere y'are. Hopin' ta find yah." He was all hands, wrapping around her waist, tugging her close. She allowed it, despite the fact they were outside her room. She'd started that, hadn't she? "Afta dat li'l sample dis mornin', Remy be left wantin' more…" He began to toy a pattern out on her back and looked at her with those hot eyes – but instead of succumbing to distraction, she leveled him with a slit-eyed look.

"What did Logan want?" she asked, unable to hide the thread of nervousness. Anything that Logan wanted with Remy at this point could not bode well.

Remy's blanch was nearly non-existent, but she hadn't spent every night for nearly three weeks with him for nothing. Still, he shrugged it off. "Y' know Wolvie, he always goin' on about somet'ing." Her frown deepened, but he was going on, "Actually had an idea f' tanight."

Her cheeks tinged immediately. Remy's ideas always turned out to be, _interesting_. "Oh?" she asked, successfully distracted.

He nudged her up against the wall and she swallowed as he gave her an Eskimo kiss-. "T'inkin' we'd go t' a club."

She stiffened. "A club?"

"T' _célébre_ dis mornin'. An' it be a _bon _way ta try out yah control wit' distractions 'round," he chuckled into her and it went all the way through her. "'sides _moi_." She looked away.

"Ah, ah don't know." They'd never, well, _been_ together outside of her room, except for this morning and she couldn't quite say why the thought made her nervous.

"Out o' de area, course," he added and caught her eyes, leaning closer. "Get ta take my _belle _bike too." He gave her an easy grin, red-and-black glimmering, and she surrendered with an utterness and speed that was almost unnerving.

But didn't she always?

-For poor, sad people who don't know: an 'Eskimo kiss' is just rubbing noses, but it's so cute!

* * *

She didn't know where they pulled up, only that it was a fair distance from Bayville. She was barely able to observe the place either, for as soon as she was off the bike, he was all over her, arm around the waist, tossing salacious comments her way, trailing fingers over her form. The bouncer had taken one look at them and made way; undoubtedly this was one of Remy's long-term hang-outs and the thought that he had brought her to it made something inside her flutter. Of course, that could also be because of fact he hadn't stopped playing with extremely high slit in her long skirt since the moment she'd alighted from 'Marie.' (She hadn't really expected less, her pick of black tube top and skirt, overlain with a wide-wristed crimson see-through mesh-top had definitely been picked strategically. Feeling extremely daring, she'd actually skipped any form of tights – his face when she'd straddled his bike and bared thigh had been priceless.)

Once they were in, she stiffened, reflexively rebelling to the crowded atmosphere. Remy's hand solidified against the small of her back. "_Du calme_," the words shuddered through her. "Jus' focus on me an' we be _attentif, d'accord_?" She nodded shakily and he curled a few fingers to touch her flesh. She flushed, feeling it illicit in front of others. "Den we can have some real fun." She looked at him and he pulled her closer. "De distractions, dey _rien_," nothing he breathed and so close to her, the look from that morning re-ignited, hungry, longing. "Dis, dis-" he was a breath away and she felt her pulse jack rabbit. Her eyes skittered, feeling the gaze of other people.

"Bu' there's-"

"Y' self-conscious?" She blushed at his frank question and he began tugging her away from the center of the club.

"Remy?"

Once they were by the side of the room, hazily shielded by dim lighting from the rest of the room, he spun her around with a wry smirk. "Dis better?" The heat in his eyes hadn't decreased, now coming to rest on her legs, her waist, her breasts, her showcased shoulders, the edge of her neck. They glowed in the darkness and she marveled at how attuned her response had become. He leaned into her. "Now tahme t' do waht any warm-blooded male would like t' do wit' y'."

She licked her lips and his grip tightened. "An' what would that bah?"

"Make out wit' you in a dark corner." His frankness, so adolescent-like, made her heady and she regained her balance in this half-familiar ambiance.

Coyly, she looked out from under her lashes. "Oh reahlly?" her voice was throaty and he slipped an entire hand underneath her top and she couldn't help the gasp.

"Any _homme_ in his righ' mind wou'n't be able ta keep the'r hands off y'." There was something almost desperate, almost reverent in his tone and then his lips were on hers and he tasted like all the things she'd never thought she'd have.

In that moment, alone in a crowded club, he was hers, all hers for the taking.

And she was his.

* * *

"Yah seem to 've been here often."

"Oh, only dream about doing this with _ma_ _chérie_."

And under his glibness, she tasted his truth.

* * *

They finally came up for air sometime, she had no clue when, too drunk on him and the moment and the music that pounded through her that she'd missed.

Arm curled around her, he led her to the bar.

"Whattdya want _chérie_?" She shrugged, getting the feeling the bar didn't stock non-alcoholic drinks. She racked her mind for something she honestly liked, pushing aside her suddenly 'helpful' Remy psyche. Her lips had to quirk at one suggestion though.

"How 'bout a 'Scarlett O'Hare'?" Remy's lips quirked in response.

"Gotta love a Southern gal," he put his hand to his chest. "Mah kinda girl."

"Southern?" the heavy-set bartender raised an eyebrow. "Don't get that many around here. Where'd you pick up this one?" he directed the question to Remy and Rogue's grin turned venomous.

"Don't think that's any ah yah business," she said, "sugah," deliberately drawling the word out, laying a hand flat out on the counter. The insinuation stung just a little too much, the reality piercing this haze, haze of what?

Remy nudged her. "Hey why don't y' go reserve us ah pool table?" She reluctantly broke eye contact with the bartender, a bitterness still in her mouth.

"Whateva." And honestly, just to torment him, as she turned with a flip of her hair, she muttered, "Shoulda gotten 'Sexual Trance.'" The bartender had to call his name twice to get his attention as she walked away with a smirk on her face.

_

* * *

_

You've got your dumb friends

_I know what they say_

_They tell you I'm difficult_

_But so are they_

* * *

"Your girl's a regular spitfire, isn't she?" Even through the crowd, she could pick up the question. And the immediate response –

"She's not my girl."

_

* * *

_

But they don't know me

_Do they even know you?_

_All the things you hide from me_

_All the shit that you do_

* * *

And she can't breathe.

She's not of course. She's not 'his girl' and he's not 'her guy.' They're not dating. Tonight was just about, about pretending, a farce, a game.

She started it, asked for his help to let her be able to do things, things for a boyfriend – not for him or with him.

"**-touch without it meanin' anaything."**

And it didn't.

_

* * *

_

You were all the things I thought I knew

_And I thought we could be_

* * *

Nothing.

And the Remy in her head is silent.

_

* * *

_

You were everything, everything that I wanted

_We were meant to be, supposed to be, but we lost it_

_And all of our memories, so close to me, just fade away_

_All this time you were pretending_

_So much for my happy ending_

_Oh oh, oh oh, oh oh..._

* * *

She was waiting when he strolled up to the billiard table, carrying his bourbon and her fruity Southern Comfort. She took hers without comment.

Raising an eyebrow at her silence, he instead nodded toward the table. "Yah ready t' play?"

She met his eyes directly. "Oh yeah."

She was ready.

Finally.

_

* * *

_

It's nice to know that you were there,

_Thanks for acting like you cared_

_And making me feel like I was the only one_

_It's nice to know we had it all_

_Thanks for watching as I fall_

_And letting me know we were done..._

* * *

"And afta that," she said coolly, "should go back ta the mansion." He blinked at the suddenness, the beginnings of a frown but she went on. "Wanna do ahur own practice, _non_?" She mocked, twirling her pool stick with an expert flick and predictably, his eyes heated.

Yeah, she was ready.

And she was going to win.

* * *

They tumbled unto her bed still clothed, fingers slipping under to caress skin, too impatient to wait to have it revealed in time. And yet inside, she was ice. The heat of his kisses, what was it but _play_?

He moved to her neck, a bare hand coming to slip up the slit of her skirt. He edged her underwear and her fingers, anticipatory, wound themselves in his shirt.

"Remy-" A tendril of shock ran through her.

"Jus' breathe _chérie_ an' i'll be fine," his voice was thick and a hairline fracture appeared in the cold. She wasn't, what if – why did he gamble so?

Then he slid inside and there were no barriers but those she could not see but the coiling inside was heating and she couldn't totally grasp the sparks she could see as her eyes fought to remain open. He was feeling her out, texture that made her shake and feel like she was going to burst as those pretty little lies flew off his lips like she meant all the world. She said his name, to stop him? encourage him?, and a shiver went down his spine. But she bit down as she felt the seizure of the stars come and she was undone.

She let out shuttering breathes, feeling a wetness against her eyes, spent.

He murmured against her, nuzzling her face, easing her down from the heavens. And she wanted to ask him why, but had to keep the cold.

Why the handjobs? Jaded, it was easy to come up with the answer. Control and power. The ability to manipulate another, cause them intense emotions, pleasure. The pants, the moans – when she took him in hand (**'Y' sure yah ready **_**chere**_**?' ''m sure it's easia ta keep focus when ah ain't the one goin' over the edge, trust meh')**, she mused, watching his face. He was still speaking, still in control, directing her inexperienced fingers to fit just right, to apply just the right amount of pressure, but all too soon she's moving without it and he's lapsing into French and nonsensical visceral sounds that tell her exactly what she, Rogue, is doing to him, the Gambit. The ability to bring someone to their knees, to bring them beyond words…

But the ice can't stay, not with his heat, his tenderness reaching into her.

As she held him in the palm of her hand, she couldn't hate him. Couldn't despise him. He was risking so much for her, so much in the palm of her innocent, bare hand – trusting her, all for what? A few sexual encounters? The knowledge he'd gotten to the Rogue? But she, she was getting the experience of a lifetime, a gift she could not count the worth of. She watched his face finally in awe as pleasure, pleasure she had caused (not pain, for once!), burned to its brightest degree.

He was fulfilling exactly what she'd asked – and he had made no promise further than that:

_**Fuckbuddy.**_

"_Dieu chere_," he breathed at her, becoming limp. His breathing was loud in the still room and she couldn't help a slight grin. She'd left him speechless.

"Not tha' bad, huh?"

He tilted his head, the fact he was still catching his breath detracting from the calculating look he was aiming for. "T'ink we have ta do it a few more times dough."

Her heart squeezed even as she laughed.

So why did she feel like she'd just lost something?


	9. All the way

**OKAY, NOW HONESTLY, AFTER READING THIS CHAPTER TITLE, HOW MANY PEOPLE WOULD READ THE AUTHOR'S NOTES FIRST?**

**So I'm putting them at the bottom. Be aware – this chapter is **_**not**_** as long as the last two.**

* * *

Now if you wanted a _**nice, happy fic**_ – go back to last chapter and replace the end with this:

"**Your girl's a regular spitfire, isn't she?"**

"**Yeah, she is."**

**And something swelled inside Rogue.**

**Minutes later, he approached the pool table with her fruity Southern Comfort and his 'Absolut Sex' and she snorted. "Took yah long enough sugah. Not nice ta keep a girl waitin' on a date."**

**Pausing, he looked at her steadily, setting the drinks on the lip of the table. "That what we on, **_**chere**_

**She met his look. "Yah want to be?" She wished for her gloves, to fiddle with something – but it was far too late for that.**

**And slowly a smile curled on his face. "If y' t'ink dis be a date, Remy gonna have t' show yah a real good time." He wrapped an arm around her, burying his face in her hair, brushing by her ear.**

"**Wou'n't expect anaything less," she breathed.**

**And they dated from that day forth, shocking the hell out of the entire Mansion.**

**The End**

But, c'mon, where would the fun be in that? –wicked grin-

**

* * *

**

Disclaimer

– _**I'm sorry if you feel gypped or overexposed**_, but I really don't want to write porn, but I do have to document the physical developments of their sexual relationship. Oy! Thus the following scenes really hover on the edge.

**So Warning and: **I will be trying out, at least _peripherally_, all canon (comic, movie, cartoon) pairings for Rogue. Um, because that's kinda an issue in this chapter.

And now, what you all (and I know you all) have been waiting for…

* * *

It Takes Two…to Practice

* * *

All the way...

* * *

"They were having a wonderful time. The time of their lives, if you will. A marvelous time, riding high, fast and furious even."

The teacher smiled chummily at her joke, but Rogue didn't notice. Her eyes were fixed on her page.

**

* * *

**

He slipped down her pajama pants and she could practically taste her pulse. His fingers hooked the waistband of her underwear. He was looking up at her and she felt slightly light-headed.

"_**Chere**_**," his voice eased "we only do this if-"**

"**If yah can do it," her voice sounded scratchy, but she didn't clear her throat. "Ah can do it."**

**His eyes glimmered up and she took a deep breath, allowing his look to soothe her nerves. "Ah can."**

**He slid them off and then kissed her, mockingly chaste, in a 'land' no man had ever entered. **

**She rolled her eyes mentally as his tongue swept her and her hands interlaced his hair.**

**And yet, the words really were so pretty, so pretentious…cunnilingus…**

* * *

"It was 'The Roaring Twenties,' known for bootlegged alcohol, a female clothing revolution, and the epic Stock Market boom. Business was up, jazz was taking off, youth were footloose and fancy free.

It was a grand time."

* * *

…**fellatio…**

**It was awkward and she felt like she was going to choke, but he stroked her jaw gently. "Easy **_**chérie**_**. Don' lock de jaw. Got precious cargo dere." She did roll her eyes this time as his eyes danced with slight tension, but she had to stay calm. Collected. If she didn't – it had to be the single most awkward way to be absorbed for him.**

**She wished she could take a deep breath this time, but instead, ever so carefully, drew back, then rocked forward on her heels.**

**Remy hissed, a sound she was able to tell wasn't pain, and his fingers fisted in her sheets.**

**She, she was doing this. A burst of something so luminous, so awesome, heated inside her, but she kept herself still.**

**How could he trust her so?**

**And yet, when she sucked on the tips of his fingers teasingly later, after he'd spent himself (she still couldn't believe she'd swallowed – yet salty, it wasn't, wasn't horrible), his eyes subtly grew darker, smoldering on her mouth, and she had to wonder:**

**Was the trust, that very act **_**("People get nervous 'bout bein' touched by someone who can blow t'ings up")**_,** as addictive for him as her?**

* * *

"But such wonderful things must always come to an end. The extraordinary high had to dip low."

* * *

"_**Dite-moi un secret."**_

* * *

"A backlash if you will."

* * *

"**Sometimes ah've imagined yah as a virgin."**

**He raised an eyebrow. "**_**Vraiment**_**?" Lowering his head to nuzzle her, "Now why'd y' wish f' a silly t'ing like dat?" His breath painted her bare skin.**

"**Dunno." She shrugged and hated his experienced hand.**

"**I've always been a t'ief. On de streets," a shrug "an' off."**

**She didn't react and he lingered over her.**

"**Did it t' survive, **_**mais**_** it ain't about de keepin'– somet'ing 'bout what anotha keeps so close," a finger crept up the line of her bare side, "can't help bu' wanna wrap mah fingers 'round it." He smirked down at her teasingly.**

**But all she could think was: he'd never been so true...**

* * *

"And the speculation that fueled over ten years of extravagance came crashing down. The prosperity people had counted on, vanished as if only an illusion."

* * *

"**Mah name-"**

**A finger to her lips.**

"**It not be important, **_**hein?**_**" She reads his tension.**

**Some things stay secret…**

**She can't say why it hurts.**

* * *

"So why? Why the run on October 24th 1929? Why was the fall so sudden, so fast, so complete?"

**

* * *

**

She didn't actually like the oral too much, either way.

**It wasn't that it wasn't incredible; Rogue had practically felt stars when he'd done it to her. And having him writhe was of course a great ego boost, but-**

**She missed his murmurings in her ear, his eyes, well, at eye level – there **_**with**_** her when she was going over the edge, or when he was.**

**It wasn't about the pleasure.**

**It wasn't.**

**She picked out his imperfections.**

**His chin was too rough – she got stubble burn. His face was too long, his tone too cocky, his nose had a bump undoubtedly from being broken, he preened like Narcissus, his teeth **_**had**_** yellowed from the smoking, he evaded everything, there was still the trace of the **

**mushroom cut she'd seen him wear when she'd first met him – his left leg was a fraction shorter than his right, he spoke in third person – and yet he'd all but stopped with her and –**

**It didn't help.**

**The ease with which the flaws had once come had stilted and now for every point, she had a counter or a deeper realization.**

**It didn't help if the jagged line by his pectoral was ugly. (She had scars too.) It didn't even help if he still gave other girls winks as if they'd drop their panties on command. (He didn't mean it. Did he?)**

**Because – it just didn't.**

**Not now.**

* * *

The teacher turned to the board. Rogue slowly copied the notes.

"People overextended. Credit had really taken off at this period and slowly retraction set in. Americans had to cut their losses."

**

* * *

**

They were so different.

**Exhibitionist. Recluse.**

**He let it all go, even his power. She sucked everything in, keeping everything – every thought, every memory, every touch…**

**Easier to touch. **_**Easier**_** to not.**

**And yet, they were alike weren't they?**

**Clothes, accessories, attitude – they were as much a barrier for him as her.**

**Only letting people so close.**

**But for him, that had never meant physically. And her to touch him was nothing but the echo of a thousand caresses he'd already had, all as meaningless…**

* * *

"And once the actions of an increasing number began to snowball, there came to be a massive lack of confidence."

**

* * *

**

She was quieter now, more subdued. Remy had noticed, his brow wrinkling as their practice went on. But he never seemed to find the words, besides the ever breezy, "Y' okay,

_**chere**_**?" (He was silent in her mind too, but she knew that at least had to do with the fact she couldn't bear to summon him, **_**it.**_

**She wanted to hear him say her name just once.**

**But it wasn't going to happen.**

**Not now…**

* * *

"Actually, the economy did pick up after the dark days of 1929, reaching a secondary peak in April of the next year. But then it slid down again, not stopping until finally bottoming out at the lowest level in 1932.

And in some ways, it's easy to say why. To protect themselves, people stopped expending their resources, held them more tightly – afraid of them disappearing into thin air. With less buying came cuts in production and thus jobs, hiking up unemployment and culminating in even more curtailed spending."

**

* * *

**

There were two things that Rogue hated to do, things her very mutation fought her on (perhaps even the reason she hated them so much):

**She hated to lose control.**

**And she hated to share.**

**She wasn't about to do either if she could in any way help it.**

* * *

Mrs. Fielding looked out at the class with a wry smile. "Ironic isn't it, that their efforts just furthered the very thing they were afraid of."

**

* * *

**

She just wasn't.

* * *

The bell rang and over the sudden flurry of noise as notebooks and binders got thrown into bookbags, the teacher called out, "Remember, test Friday, uh tomorrow!"

Rogue, still seated, very deliberately circled the date in her agenda.

She stared at the calendar for a long moment, before packing up to leave.

* * *

Rogue wasn't expecting to bump into him when she got home the next day. She really wasn't. Therefore, the sight of him lounging by the banister of the great staircase, barely minding the busily gossiping school crowd swarming up the stairs by him, caused something to tighten almost nervously within her.

Shifting her feet, she put her bookbag down and pretended to fiddle with it until the crowd cleared and the pleated sound of shuffling cards was all that could be heard.

She picked up her bookbag and in a smooth movement, he palmed the cards. As if orchestrated, they moved in sync.

"Have a good day _chérie_?" he broke the ice casually, sidling up by her.

"It was fahne." Inwardly she cringed. She should've started their banter when others had been around. Being alone with that look in his eyes, almost possessive, felt awkward without the familiar confines of her room.

He 'hmmed.' "Ready f' de weekend?" She didn't want to answer, hesitating, but his fingers reached for her regardless, when there was the loud sound of slapping shoes on marble floors. Frustration flickered in his face, but by the time the X-Man appeared at the top of the stairs, he'd circled her, smirking and brushing by her back.

"Rogue!"

She looked up to see Bobby, even as Remy murmured in her ear, "_Rendez-vous _here at 11 _et quart_." Without waiting for an answer, he stepped back, a frown appearing on the younger blonde's face. "Remy be t'inkin' school wasn't so fun without de _belle femmes _weh got here," his voice, now in normal range, echoed in the nearly empty entryway. "Remy tempted," he drawled and she shifted under the weight of his gaze "t' reform an' go back."

Knowing what he was doing, she snorted, "Like yah eva went ta school swamp rat," it came out almost easily, so scornfully, but it was bitter to her mouth. He just grinned at her though, back to Bobby, "See yah lata _chere_." He tipped his fingers and strolled away.

"Rogue?" she broke her gaze from Remy's departing figure, to focus on Bobby, who was walking down the staircase. Reaching the bottom, he stood there awkwardly. "Was he bothering you?" he suddenly blurted out. Rogue's face stiffened.

"He's just bein' an ass like always," she shrugged, trying to play it off. She ignored the ring of falsity the words conjured in her mind. "Yah wanted ta talk to meh?" she said, briskly changing the subject. She waited for him to speak.

Bobby shuffled his feet. "Um, how was your day?" It was so sincere she felt the irrational urge to scream. She swallowed the impulse.

"It was fine." It came stiff, but she really wasn't feeling sympathetic at the moment. He shuffled his feet again and she could barely stop herself from rolling her eyes. "Ah look Bobby, ah haven't gone t' my room yet-"

"I – I need to talk to you," the vehemence launched him a few steps forward and she blinked as his face turned bright red.

"Okay." But whatever momentum he'd gained drained away again and he looked unbelievably flustered. If he didn't speak soon- "Well, I know you've been practicing with Mr. Logan and Kitty and Kurt and Scott, but I was just wondering if there was any way, you know, that I could help or practice, you know, that you might not with them and, and I swear it wouldn't be awkward or anything-" It came in such a rush that she blinked to make sure he hadn't suddenly turned into Quicksilver. The babbling was just as incomprehensible though.

"Woah, breathe Bobby." He stopped with a flush and she hoped this wouldn't start another round of silence. She hiked her bag unto her hip. "Now watcha tryin' ta say?"

He licked his lips. "Is there any way I can help?" The red still hadn't left his face. She sifted through the mishmash from earlier – what had he been talking about? She frowned.

"With mah practice?" she asked to check.

He gave a furious nod. "You know, with stuff you, uh, couldn't do with, um, anyone else?"

It took her a minute to work it out. It took another for it to sink in. "Y' mean like kissing?" she said in disbelief. He was volunteering? She'd known he had a small crush on her, but – it was incomprehensible.

The crimson blush rising from his neck was back, but this time it accompanied a defiant look. "Yes."

She stared at him before taking a deep breath. "Bobby, that's reahlly sweet, but if ah-"

"I'm okay with being absorbed, well, a little. And, and – if you just wanted to try once you know, just to see if you could." He looked determined – and hopeful, d- it, and she felt like a jerk for crushing it. But she couldn't, not with- No, she'd already been through this, already set up this kind of practice. She'd done it with Remy – her thoughts slowed down.

Only with Remy.

The thought sunk into her. She hadn't tried it out beyond him, even if that was the stated purpose. Mostly because she hadn't really had any opportunities, but-

This could be her perfect chance to test it, test that her practice hadn't been for naught. If she could kiss another…

Blue eyes looked at her pleadingly and she frowned slightly, but put down her bookbag. "Yah sure about this?" Something oddly like guilt, like betrayal churned in her gut, but she ignored it. There was nothing, no one, to betray.

His eyes lit up, but not literally – nostalgia she could only pretend didn't exist choked her throat. "Absolutely. Ah," he looked around, taking stock of their exposed position, "do you want to do it here or-"

"Here." If she didn't do that moment, she wouldn't and so she soothed her mutation – it prickled against her, but calmed after a moment.

Bobby looked at her wide-eyed and she felt unbelievably awkward. Remy had always made getting in the mood so easy- she blocked the thought and leaned forward. Catching the hint and blushing, he leaned forward as well. When meeting was assured, she closed her eyes.

He felt cool against her lips, something rebelled within her and she forced it down – she had to _try_ at least, and even angling to fit, it was clumsy. He stepped closer and – he wasn't Remy.

Her mutation flared almost vengefully and she quickly backed away, feeling ice crystallize in her breath even as she did.

Bobby looked slightly dazed, though she was assured that was at least partially because of her absorption. _I knew if she just let me- _She pushed the half-formed psyche back, far back – she couldn't face him and a growl rung through her mind that is angry and jealous and she knew far too well.

"'m sorry Bobby," she said, regret and pity flooding her as his face lost its smile. "Ah, ah'm just-" and she knew the words that were already forming in his mouth and shook her head at the gracious look in his eyes. "Ah don't feel that way-" His face froze and she couldn't go on.

She was such a bitch.

"Ah'm sorry," she said again, miserably and grabbed her bag and fled.

Out of sight, she collapsed against a wall, too many emotions warring inside her. Was she doomed to poor decisions?

But one thought, one realization stood clear. All those times: twirling her bikini tie, smoldering beneath her, fingers beneath her chin – heady on his presence, gripping her with greedy speedy fingers. And then-

It just wasn't him.

She sunk to her knees as the world dropped out from below her.

It, Bobby, Chad, anyone, hadn't been Remy.

And now it made all the difference in the world.

* * *

Rogue arrived at the top of the stairs just as the elaborate grandfather's clock downstairs chimed the quarter hour. She fingered the banister, letting her eyes trail over the entryway. Ember orbs almost immediately caught her attention. She could barely make him out in the shadows, but there he was, waiting for her at the bottom. She didn't make a move to walk down.

Instead, she waved for him to come up, mouthing the words as well. She didn't doubt he could see her – between his eyes, the filtered light from the windows at the door, and the pale starkness of her skin, she had to be more than visible.

He walked up the stairs silently and almost morosely, she couldn't help comparing the approach to Bobby's earlier approach. Obvious; covert- She pushed away any further comparison.

At the head of the stairs he paused, looking her over. She returned the gaze, noting the hot silk black button-down that made something below her stomach curl (under his trench coat, of course) and the matching black slacks. He looked edible – but not without purpose. His words confirmed her hunch. "_Chere_, thought we could go back to de club." He playfully tugged her green plain pajama top. "Unless y' comfortable-"

She cut him off; she had to. She stared at the top button of his shirt. "I'm ready."

She felt his eyes run down her casual outfit again. "Re'lly? Now I know _femme_ fashion is strange, but-"

"No, Remy," she placed her hand on his and met his eyes, determined. "Ah'm ready."

The black of his eyes threatened to overwhelm the red and she was almost amused. "Oh." It occurred to her at that moment: an insane thought – he wasn't. But it's insane, ridiculous and she almost laughed. "_D'accord_," he breathed and she wonders if she is also insane for thinking she might hear a chord of disappointment.

But then he tilted her face back and kisses her – not starving like at the club, but rather an appetizer, provocative and yet-

She eases back because it's too early _(too late)_ for _(tenderness) _passion, not here, so exposed. He's watching her face, but she's implacable and takes his hand, forestalling any comments.

And she leads him into her room.

* * *

There was something in the way he undressed her. Carefully, deliberately, purposefully – and yet it wasn't detached. Removing her top, he leaned to kiss the tops of both her shoulder blades, then the curve of the blade, then the top of each exposed breast.

Her insides were shaking, torn with counter longings. She wanted him to just do this and, and be _done_ – but his care, just made her want for this to never end. When had she become so- She couldn't think it.

She ran her fingers through his hair and he looked up at her. She gave a soft smile, hiding the strain, and he slowly drew down her pajama pants. She was naked underneath and his breath caught for just a moment. His bare hands, as if unable to _not_, didn't leave her skin as he stood back up, fingers skimming, catching at her hips for a moment – a caress – before coming to settle at her waist.

Her heart was double beating, but she didn't focus on the look in his eyes, she couldn't. She then pushed the trench coat off him; it hit the floor with a weighty thump. And then button by button, she undid him. The shirt fell open and she ran her fingers over his stomach. Just over three weeks – had it only that long since she'd first seen him exposed to her? Touched him?

She reached higher and swept the shirt back, drawing it off his broad shoulders. Her fingers brushed his biceps, drawing it off, then forearms. Tilting her head just a little, she mirrored his care, kissing the cords of his shoulder, then the indent. She hesitated for a second, lost for a second at bridging the gap between male and female, but then tilted up and kissed his Adam's apple. His grip tightened and she felt the flesh bob beneath her lips.

Her hands went to his waist and she popped the fly deliberately, then smoothed the slacks off his slim hips – feeling only an echo of her usual mocking of the figure girls envied. He was wearing boxers and she was oddly amused that he'd worn more undergarments than her. More layers. The slacks slid to the floor and she dipped her fingers under the waistband.

She wasn't steady, but she couldn't be sure who it was that was trembling.

Rogue pushed them down definitively, before finally slipping into a crouch to complete the job.

It was only when she stood and his hands hooked her hips and the force jarred her eyes to meet his and they were such a fiery hue that she was stunned – it was only then that she realized it was the first time they'd both been naked at the same time. She felt the sense send her nerves tingling, his eyes lingering over her form. And without even kissing…

So she kissed him and closed her eyes. She didn't want to think, she didn't want to _feel_ – just focusing on the dueling thrust of his tongue, the heavy, fast thrum of her heart, the heated brush of his bared skin against hers, the liquid fire that raced through her veins, the pressure of his fingertips as he pulled her impossibly closer. She angled her mouth and tugged at his lips, his fingers began to skim her, and it took her a moment to realize what the pressure at the back of her legs was.

Her bed.

Her mutation swelled within her, pin-pricking her skin in greedy anticipation and – she wanted more.

But she refused to give in, asserting – control. Control. She had control. Awe.

Victory - it only rang hollowly.

And this was all she would have.

Remy dragged his lips away from the curve of her lips and rested his forehead against hers. "Rogue?" he murmured, pulling back a little, and she suddenly felt very cold.

_Why am I doing this?_

He didn't ask (_they never asked the real questions_), but she said it anyway, her voice catching.

"Ah've never thought of doing this with anyone else."

Only so close.

_How many secrets can we keep?_

Remy stared at her for a moment and something changed in the red and black swirl of his eyes. But then he was drawing her down on the bed and layering her with his lips and his hands and his body, plying her neck, her breasts, her buttocks, her thighs, her knees - warming her with his heat. And interlaced with his drugging touch, he murmured his last confession. "When I first saw yah, thought it was a tragedy de _fille_ couldn't touch." His hand caressed her inner thigh, tantalizing up to her belly button – finger in and out, and she felt her skin turn to flame. "Co'n't be touched. An' I told myself, if dere was anything ah could eva do, _aide-toi _I'd do it." His eyes meet her and she was laid open before him. And she wanted to tell him he's been so much more, but only she can say is:

"Ah'm reahdy," she said again, even if she wasn't (was she?) and then he was sliding into her, him for real this time, and his eyes didn't leave her face (the expression-) and she wanted to cry but wouldn't and it didn't hurt (guess life had broken that barrier for her) and it was awkward but she was part of him – he was part of her and yet not and he gripped her hips to keep her still and help her adjust but she doesn't want to adjust she just wants to do this and touch the stars with him and then he starts a rhythm, rocking their hips, a hand trailing down, and it's panting and gasps and those pretty little lies (_**I love yah hips, dey jus' parfait) **_and they harmonize and it's still awkward but it's real, it's so real as she feels the pleasure and pain sweep over her, and she has to kiss him because she can't take the intensity of his eyes and the fact she is so close…

And as she gave him herself, in the most immediate complete sense, she can't deny the surge of realization, knowledge, condemnation –

She loves him.

And she's going to hate herself for what she has to do when she awakes.

* * *

Oh, I'm so evil!

Now why did Remy say she wasn't his girl?! Gonna have to wait just a little. (But Sassy18, that is a wonderful question: "since when did technicalities bother Remy"?)

**Never fear, Remy stars next chapter!!**

**What Rogue lost:** this is actually again up for interpretative grabs. Innocence, in all its various forms, could be an option, though hope – hope that there could be more than their original agreement – is definitely a strong contender. And ah, Gambits girl, when I saw your comment, I was like – you so predicted this chapter's end!

**The bike**: Pyrinsomniac, wiccamage and nuriiko – I loved adding those little details with the bike, "without giving anything away completely" completely. Oh, and Logan was grumbling about his bike – as to if Marie is all Remy wants, well, we'll see, won't we?

mazdamiatta - I'm sorry, guys can be such jerks. So true! Oh, but how many people really do solve their problems before sex? It intensifies everything and for Rogue and Remy, it's a catalyst I just can't deny. As to the viewpoint, that's a yes – both simultaneously. The timeline will move forward, but Remy's going to flashback through the relationship – so much to mine there. And um, really not going into dirty details… Though I didn't know that about the gloves. Whoops. But latex, it's just too – clinical. I felt that would break the atmosphere I was going for.

Yes, Romy ending. Now **completely happy** romy ending… er…This _is _Rogue and Remy.

Thanks to all my other lovely reviewers!

Cristalake (got worried there for a second...), Captain Annie, Wanda W (blush - um, about that wait...), Rogue181, Lady Starlight Serenity, Remy'sRose, verde (Oy! –big blush-), coldqueen **(you are merciless! lol. And "Spoil Me!" Let's leave that to Remy now…), **X-Storm, gambit-rogue **(Rogue as betrayed, ah yes, but she can't quite claim that, can she?)**, -apatheticallyxyours- (oy and that was only at the 4th chapter –big sweatdrop-), Chica De Los Ojos Café (very perceptive), Mercuriancat (yes, erm manual manipulation), Nocturnalwitch, gambits girl (yay!), wiccamage, ShadowFax999, drthmik, mistyxtc, Forever-Dawn, MidniteAngelGoth (-grin-), schweeps, cream tea anyone **(uh-huh, but she's a tad in denial…)**, ishandahalf **(I love that -squee!- and "they wouldn't really be themselves if they weren't complicated, eh?" –sigh- heck no!**), smile for me (wait and see!), WretchedMuse **(okay, I think I get the comment now – oh poor girl, you really do have a wait. –guilty look-)**, Cerdwyn3 (-sad smile-).


	10. And back again

Together or not? Will be answered this chapter. **Don't they always have trouble figuring that out though?**

* * *

Clarification on touching – part of it has been about her getting comfortable with touch period (being able to touch someone else's hand, not flinch if someone touched her arm), however a larger part are the people involved. Rogue was practicing with people she had a decent amount of comfort with – Logan, Kurt, Kitty. Then though intimate touch does take adjustment, the larger part was her getting comfortable with _Remy_ as her partner. Just by his presence, he became a comfort to her, a reassurance to her mutation that it could calm down – thus why she was able to touch that other girl bare-handed. Wanting him so much just sent it in overdrive – and then she had to work on calming it down and satisfying the demands by becoming more emotionally intimate with him. Of course, none of this is really conducive to having a 'casual' sexual relationship with someone.

Ajax41: Meaningless – this is Rogue's bitterness coming out. Every touch from him means so freaking much to her, that the idea it means nothing to him kills her. She doesn't have a right to assume or judge though, not at this point, but, well, we'll see. Oh and Rogue has always had a problem respecting Remy and his feelings, in any 'verse – something that will need to change. Couldn't help but follow that trend.

Ishandahalf: I just wanted to quote you, because of great insight! "what a realization on rogue's part - that it's not the act of touching itself that matters, it's who she's doing it with. she's built up this trust with remy, so it makes perfect sense that she can control her powers easiest with him - because her powers would have to be so intimately intertwined with her psychological state, her confidence, her trust, etc." See and now I did something there – the focus is not even on the fact _him _touching _her _might be meaningless because he's so free with touching, but the fact it's _her, _that he doesn't appreciate her as more than the x number of girls who've touched him before. She's afraid her touch means nothing to him, while his means so much to her. Ironic, considering her powers…

* * *

The sharing of her name – good insight thus far, and I'll go into it next chapter. (I loved your take Ajax41.) And Pyrinsomniac, he hasn't been necessarily been giving secrets at the same level – but yes, giving something equal to that? Definite problem.

"Did it t' survive, _mais_ it ain't about de keepin'– somet'ing 'bout what anotha keeps so close, can't help bu' wanna wrap mah fingers 'round it." Pyrinsomniac – so insightful! It is a power and vulnerability issue – knowing what the other treasures and then being able to take it. "To be able to take it, and for it not to mean to you what it means to someone else, both give you an advantage over that other person. Gambit's as much of a control freak as Rogue." Absolutely. But can the thief really take it without it meaning so much?

**Final note: **This chapter will begin in 3rd p.o.v. then shift into Remy's. Just a warning. And well, don't judge him too quickly! Sorry for the lateness, but I suddenly realized I had to cram 6+ chapters into this one!!

Got a lot of personal A/Ns so putting them at the bottom, if you're interested.

* * *

Bonnie Raitt – "I Can't Make You Love Me" (Go back to the end of last chapter and re-read it with this – it goes perfectly!)

Turn down the lights, turn down the bed

Turn down these voices inside my head

Lay down with me, tell me no lies

Just hold me close, don't patronize - don't patronize me

_Cause I can't make you love me if you don't_

_You can't make your heart feel something it won't_

_Here in the dark, in these final hours_

_I will lay down my heart and I'll feel the power_

_But you won't, no you won't_

_'Cause I can't make you love me, if you don't_

I'll close my eyes, then I won't see

The love you don't feel when you're holding me

Morning will come and I'll do what's right

Just give me till then to give up this fight

And I will give up this fight

* * *

It Takes Two…to Practice

* * *

…and back again

* * *

Her eyes opened and she must have registered the heat against her back because she tensed.

An easy chuckle touched the pre-dawn air. "Easy _chere_." A bare finger teased the edge of Rogue's nude shoulder as if to coax the automatic activation of her mutation into submission. "'s just Remy." The girl's eyes trailed down to take in the fact she was cocooned in her own sheets, only the tips of her shoulders showing. "Guess dat be somet'ing else we'll have ta practice." His tone was light and expressionless, her eyes drifted to look behind her. He was dressed, complete with trench coat and shoes, half-lying beside her. The careless smile on his face began to fade as her gaze lingered on his feet.

She shifted over to face him and though he eyed her, her expression never changed. Collected, reserved. Unconsciously one of Remy's hands went to his pocket, smoothing the edges. He moved further back on the bed, giving her space.

"That's not what it'd really be though, rahght?" Her soft southern-tinged voice still dragged from sleep and he cocked his head.

"Whatcha mean, _chérie_?"

She finally met his eyes evenly, with only the most miniscule lag. "It wou'n't be gettin' used to wakin' up with someone," she paused, "it'd be you."

His face froze, but his gaze didn't waver.

"Yaur body, yaur scent, yaur heat, yaur touch," she said quietly, without blinking, her face still set. His face had gone blank. The hand by his pocket splayed. "You," she finished and the silence after was that of the second after a gun had gone off.

"De touch be de important thing, _non_?" His voice was steady, even almost casual. But his hand had slithered into his pocket, gripping the slim packet within. Hers was no better – her grip on the sheet tightening...

"It's your touch though." Their eyes were still locked, the red and green mockingly steady. "I'm just using-" she swallowed hard and finally looked away. As if released, his jaw locked. The contents crushed beneath his bruising grip. "This isn't workin' Remy."

"C'mon _chere_," the endearment had an edge, "yah never been afraid to say what's on yah mind. Yah t'ink yah usin' – Remy," he gave a laugh a shade too rough to be anything but humorless. "So? Don't hear meh complaining dough, now do you?" Her face finally betrayed her – paling even beneath her white complexion. But still her voice was flat, firm.

"Ah don't want t'-" she cut herself off, swallowing, before going on more composed. "Weh have ta stop Remy. It's betta this way."

His hand came free smoothly and it was barely the work of a moment for the cigarette to reach his mouth, the end reddening almost before he even raised a single finger to it.

He lit up.

Days later, he would pinpoint that moment as the moment he irrevocably lost control of the situation. A slip up, one measly, significant mistake – but it was too late.

Bad habits died hard.

Rogue's face hardened and she met his eyes again, a spark of rebellion, contempt lighting them. In a brusque tone that had lacked in her previous words, she resumed speaking. "We agreed that weh could stop anytahme, any reason. An' that'd be it." Her chin was high.

She stared him down and coolly, he exhaled, her face nearly disappearing in the sudden wispy cloud of smoke.

"Whatever y' say, _chere_."

And without further ado, he walked out her door.

* * *

His mind reeled.

She kicked him out.

The idea was preposterous, unthinkable, insane, ridiculous –

He'd been thrown out of bedrooms before, usually booted by the intrusive realization the _femme _wasn't quite as fancyfree as he'd imagined. Women had changed their minds, seen his eyes, ended up with a temper, a million different ways the hand could end unexpectedly.

But he'd never been kicked out, never so calmly, so considerately, so implacably.

– unpardonable.

The door slam reverberated in his mind, but he didn't linger by her door. He was no love-struck puppy dog. He knew when he wasn't wanted.

Not _wanted _– in a way that actually gave a d-.

And as he stalked the deserted halls, the chill of shock and disbelief began to suffuse under the accelerating lava pulse of being f-ing furious.

What the hell did she think she was doing?

Giving him the brush-off?

After every– he crushed the thought before it could form and focused on her hardened face.

Bitch.

The word was flavored with fury, spiced with resentment, textured with the history of over three weeks of experience –_ the whisper of her wide green eyes, going over the edge, "Remy…"_

Without realizing it, he arrived at the Danger Room. He rolled his shoulders, feeling the tension roil through him, the charge inciting his nerves, vibrating the very air. He needed to destroy something – and not think.

Not think about _her_, the fucking bitch.

The irony barbs within him – _not_. And he forces it away as he announces his simulation to the computer.

But it's not so easy to shake her, not when she's imprinted into his skin, not that it ever has been easy…

**

* * *

**

Her file had been exactly ninth in the pile, being the last of the 'original' X-Men, and he opened it with the same careless interest he had the rest. Details were what could make or break a job and Gambit, though never one bookishly inclined, always gave briefings several read-throughs – and then added his own research.

**He'd glanced over her picture twice, memorizing as he did for all the rest, his eyes lingering for a moment on the stripe. It made her distinctive and able to be picked out in a crowd, an important marker for his later surveillance. He skimmed over her description, just trying to get a feel for the team, an eyebrow rising at the blurb given on her powers:**

_**Absorbs memories, physical energy, and abilities (particularly in the case of mutants) through skin-to-skin contact. Often renders victims unconscious.**_

**He remembered, dimly, musing how handy that would be – she'd make an excellent thief. **

**But it was the next word that got to him.**

_**Uncontrollable.**_

**He read it a second time before it clicked. She couldn't –**

**The description: skin-to-skin contact.**

**Touch.**

**He sat there for a second, marveling, disturbed at the cold clinical depiction of what had to be the girl's greatest source of heartache, drawn out for any person to see in harsh black and white.**

_**Uncontrollable.**_

**It was that word that made him look at her picture again. He looked at the made-up face, gothic art – so different from the rest of the preps. He saw the half-scowl, the displeasure at having to have her picture taken, for all official purposes. And he peered into her eyes, to see the wary, angry look in those big green eyes.**

**He thumbed through her history, now regardless of the other files he still had yet to read, reading and re-reading the sketchy outline – the holes tantalizingly vacant before him, but enough filled in to make him muse at her actions, wonder…**

**His thumb came to rest against her portrait, trailing over her cheek in the mimicry of a caress. And the thought sunk in – no one was able to actually do that to her. He stared into her defiant eyes.**

**Her name finally clicked. Rogue.**

**And with a musing half-smile, Gambit promised himself he would get a closer look.**

_**

* * *

**_

And he had.

**

* * *

**

That picture hadn't done her justice.

**Distance hadn't done her justice.**

**Then again, his sudden appreciation could've just been from her skin-tight uniform.**

**He hadn't planned on meeting up with her that first time. Not completely. Gambit had planned for the eventuality though, and when he surveyed the dispersion of the X-Men forces from on top his strategic planned vantage point, he hadn't been able to resist. Lady Luck had smiled as the Rogue took off alone, moving into the crate alley.**

**She just begged a closer inspection and he threw out his empathy in advance, wary as the added layer of sensory perception always made managing it all together more difficult.**

**She was…determined, tense, prepared, ready – the emotions bled along the edges of his mind, but he didn't dare dwell on them – intensity had the tendency to swamp his senses. **

**And then, ah, there it was: curiosity. He stood at ready, but ever so carefully began to unwind his line…**

**She turned the corner and he smirked. And in her moment of shock, he coaxed the curiosity into full force, mixing with the shock.**

**She paused and he cocked his head, a wry smile at the ease he'd ensnared her before withdrawing his pre-planned card, tugging the curiosity even further to encourage her acceptance as he offered it to her.**

**But even as she reached for it, he could feel wariness flare. Instinctively, he upped the charm and ever after, he could never be sure if her sudden intrigue was her own or the manipulation of his. Her wide eyes lidded as she took the card in her gloved hand.**

**He took a moment to admire the impact. Her jade green eyes were overshadowed by the showy makeup she wore, in-your-face and get-outta-mah-way. But when they shuttered, her guard loosening – vulnerable, he was struck by the tragedy she couldn't touch. She moved toward him incrementally and he acted reflexively, moving into her, inches away – tantalizing... **

**And he had the half-formed thought, almost wistful, if he could, what he would give to help that, her…**

**But that wasn't why he was there. This was business and the card was not a keepsake, a marker of his interest. The charge surged through his fingers (how long that had taken to conquer – would she…?) and he had to let go. He eased his ensnarement of her as he backed away before saluting.**

**And then he ran, knowing she would throw the card away (once the charm wore off) as sure as he knew they would meet again.**

**He smirked, already imagining that encounter. **

**He just loved a Southern Belle with fire.**

_**

* * *

**_

And she'd sassed him all right, even though he'd really been helping her out. He hadn't expected her to follow him, but the irony amused him and he let it pass – at least now they were even.

_**But then she'd kissed him and suddenly the interesting diversion became more of a puzzle.**_

_**The question nettled him: had she kissed him because of some personal reason on her part? Or because she'd picked up that it was the one move he surely wouldn't fight?**_

_**

* * *

**_

His encounters with her after that were all too brief.

_**The thought of that, of helping her, had stayed distantly formed, brushed aside for the more realistic scheming of exactly how to get around it. She was a lock that flaunted itself as untouchable and no thief in their right mind could resist that temptation.**_

"'**s shame 'bout the whole **_**sans touche**_**, but yah know, Remy neva turned down a chance to be **_**creatif."**_

_**But then he'd heard of her practice and the idea tantalized his senses again. **_

_**And yet… he couldn't approach her. She would never agree and he can't make himself ask it leeringly; it was control, it was her life and it felt wrong to offer himself mockingly, even if for no other reason than she'd never take him seriously.**_

_**Or so he believed, until there she was, offering it all on a silver platter…**_

* * *

"**There somethin' I cahn do for you? Or do yah for?"**

**Gambit was taken aback by her smile, even more by her touch. He knew how stingy she was with that privilege – and more than intrigued by what it might mean.**

"**Act'ally **_**cher**_**, there is."**

**Not that he'd expected it to mean something so big.**

"**Ah need practice."**

"**Practice."**

**Saying the word while touching her was simply heady. Tantilizing…**

"**Don't tahke it so personally Gambit. Yah the biggest player 'round here an' ah know yah can keep this quiet. 's not lahke we're gonna start datin'."**

**It was an offer too good to be true. And he had learned very early in life, that those offers never were what they appeared.**

**There were always strings.**

"**What exactly would dis practice include, **_**chérie**_**? Gambit be needing to know de terms before he takes de wager." **

**He released her arm, noting the moment of loss flicker on her face – and savoring it. But then she drew herself up.**

"**Everything."**

**He let his eyes leisurely stroll down her body, flashes of what touching her, unwrapping her would be like. The thought was affective, but no matter what any others might claim, he was not ruled by his lower 'brain.'**

**Still, seeing that blush couldn't help but make him wonder just what the rest of her body would look like with the dull red staining her too-pale skin.**

"**Everyt'ing?"**

"**Everything. If ah'm eva gonna have a boyfriend, ah want tah be able tah, tah do everythang couples usuahlly do."**

**She was certainly determined and he let himself toy with the idea. And yet, and yet, no matter any foolish half-pledges to do this very thing…**

"**Tempting."**

**She had no idea – she caught her breath at his touch and for the life of him, he couldn't tear his eyes away from the flutter of, of sheer awareness that flooded her face.**

"**But ah don't t'ink de **_**chere**_** be ready."**

**To play the odds, you had to know what they were. **

**And he had to know it was worth beating them.**

"**Ah'm ready."**

"**Gambit wan' ta believe yah, really ah do –"**

"**Ah'll prove it."**

**And just like that, she volunteered to show him. He swallowed his smirk.**

"**Yah ready Cajun?"**

**He'd been ready from that day by the crates, amidst explosions, giant robots, and a megalomaniac.**

"**Remy always be ready for you, **_**chere**_

**She touched him. **

**Her hand felt no different than any other's – a little softer perhaps from its habitual covering, but not substantially different. Her touch was tentative, exploratory and – **

**It was her face. The touch was almost secondary to the simple look on her face – the wonder, the curiosity of just the very act of touching something, someone for the very first time. It floored him.**

**Innocence.**

**Was he so unfamiliar with it that it could shock him so? But watching her – she was so, so **_**real**_** – no coquette or, well, a normal person - it meant something to her and he couldn't explain…**

**Awe.**

**Her eyes lidded and the effect on him seemed even more magnified from the first time. When she brushed his lips, all he could think of was how much he wished it wasn't just her fingers and he in-took too abruptly.**

**Like a startled doe, she immediately withdrew, only to meet his eyes, her own wide and almost disoriented.**

**He couldn't speak, though he had no idea why.**

"**We ain't gonna be serious, just practice at naight. And if anaything happens, we can just stop, no strings or, or anaything. Ah just need someone that ah can touch without it meanin' anaything."**

"**Practice."**

**And just like that, he knew he was going to do it, risks even as they were. It'd be worth it, even if he couldn't fully say why.**

**The cards were in his hands and he let the motions ease him.**

"**So none of Remy be trompin' through de _chérie's_ head, non?"**

**There wasn't – there'd been no absorption he knew full well.**

"**Ah, no. Ah told yah, ah can control it."**

**Her eyes sparked in offense and he held back a smirk at the flashing fury that so delightfully filled her. But let her think his hesitation was just over keeping his secrets. Not that he was thrilled at the idea she might get a glimpse of them, but…**

**The terms still bothered him. He just had to figure out why and he'd manage to finagle the situation more to his suiting. He always had before.**

**He withdrew the card, knowing instinctively which it was.**

**The Queen for the King she hadn't been able to keep.**

"**Mah lucky lady."**

**Would she be so lucky now.**

"**She be yaurs now. Your room, tonight?"**

"**Yeah."**

**

* * *

**

He blamed the makeup.

**Or more accurately, the lack of it.**

**She'd attired casually enough, hiding her form – and his fantasies of a skimpy silk-clad Rogue had to be filed away for another day. He hadn't really expected such. She no doubt felt uneasy over what exactly they'd agreed upon, and clothing was ever her armor. Didn't stop him from commenting.**

**Or imagining how much fun it was going to be to strip it from her.**

"**Nice p.j.s, but just between you and meh, Gambit prefer somet'ing a tad more, complimentary."**

"**Well it ain't like yah just stepped outta a boxer ad ahither. Bahsides, ah need to be comfortable, not–"**

"**Lookin' like yah want me to pounce on yah?"**

**He couldn't resist, tracing the edge of her shoulder. Being able to touch her, one who couldn't – and wouldn't allow another's touch, it was like having the opportunity to examine the Queen of England's jewels without guards.**

**And really, it was the lack of makeup - **

"**Don' worry, **_**chérie**_**, ah don' need de extra motivation."**

"**We need rules."**

**He'd never seen her without it.**

"**Rule #1: ah sahy stop, you stop. Don't wanna absorb any more of yaur gutta mind than ah absolutely gotta."**

"**D'accord. Gambit prefer to corrupt yah the old-fashioned wahy ahnyway."**

**Face lacking the pallid ghost-like tint, eyes bare from decoration to distract from their hue, lips red like they'd just been suckled, instead of garish purple. She looked – exposed without it, open to him. It went straight to his head, and to be honest, certain other parts…**

"**Rule #4: nothing that happens here-"**

"**Goes out dere. T'ought we already covered dat. Ya know what ah t'ink? Ah t'ink de chérie be stallin'."**

**And the ability to touch her. To have free access – unlike almost the entire rest of the world. She wouldn't say no or push his hand away, cross her arms and pierce him with her shard eyes that it would never happen.**

**The freedom.**

**He smoothed her collar and then trailed down the curve of her chest. She wasn't wearing a bra and his blood began to simmer. Just what exactly was she expecting?**

**In that moment, he lost his cool.**

"**How 'bout we make up de rest of de rules along de way?"**

**He would've kissed her in that moment, damn any consequence. She was decadence to his senses and he'd never been one to abstain.**

**But she called him back to his senses and he remembered just how much he had yet to know, to find out. Control was still on the table and he was betting on himself.**

**But damn it all if she didn't make a man want to leap without really looking.**

**

* * *

**

_So he pushed. He stripped, knowing the effect it would have on her, knowing it tilted the hand to his favor. And honestly, he thought he'd be more prepared this time for her. For the look of curiosity, wonder – hunger, on a far more visceral, deeper level than the shallow he had so long cultivated._

**_He wasn't._**

**_It was the sincerity, he decided, the purity of her desire that so incited his. Her touch wasn't a means to an end._**

**

* * *

**

The ghosting of her hand was light, ephemeral and he cursed letting her wear her gloves. But then she looked up, and he knew she wanted him,

_**it **_**too bad to resist.**

"**Now, de gloves off." **

"**Yes, **_**cher."**_

**She tugged her glove off and he had to resist the urge to shift at the revealing motion. She wet her lips and he swallowed, but thankfully she didn't notice, too focused on the task before her. Her eyes fluttered shut and unseen, he watched the play of concentration over her features. It felt too, intimate to watch her relax, calm before laying that lily white palm on his chest. She rested it there and he could only wonder at her thoughts.**

**And for the very first time, he really tried to imagine what it would've been like if he'd never been able to touch people. Ever.**

**The thought made him shift uneasily – and he immediately regretted it.**

**She'd only absorbed him once, but he'd never forgotten the sensation. Perhaps the perception had to do with his mutation, but she'd been like ice against his lips, ice that had reached right through and withdrawn everything 'til he'd fallen like lead to the ground. It hadn't been pleasant.**

**This time it was like a bucket of ice water had poured right through his chest, the cold seizing his inner organs and squeezing. She immediately retreated and he sucked air in, feeling a touch light headed.**

"**I shouldn't – 'm sorry Remy, dis be a bad-"**

**He reacted instinctively, even as the sound of his accent and his name both sent him for a loop, hooking her wrist. Had she ever said it before?**

"**Nothin' ah didn't already expect **_**chérie."**_

**And equally instinctively, he reached out with his empathy, soothing her sudden panic even as the action soothed his own.**

"**Ah knew what I was gettin' into Rogue."**

**He had counted the cost; he would just have to be more careful.**

"**Now breath **_**chérie**_** and try again." **

**She started to close her eyes, her emotions withdrawing from his reach, and he couldn't help but resist. She was shutting him out, so she could touch – simply touch. For some reason, the thought suddenly pricked him instead. He clucked his tongue.**

"**Eyes open. Want you ta know what yah getting into."**

**Her hand came back down unto him and her eyes quickly followed. Almost reluctantly he let go of her wrist as she began her examination.**

**It was like watching a child taste sugar for the first time, a mapmaker seeing the very first globe, the recovering addict laugh at the realization they've finally become clean. Not knowing truly what they wanted, strove for, desired, **_**craved**_** so long – and then finding it so much sweeter than expected.**

**He was actually glad she didn't look up at his face – for he could simply not look away. He felt like a voyeur, witnessing her chaste wonderment and he was shocked anew that she was letting him be party to this. He could not look away.**

**And she touched him with more grace than he'd ever known, tracing his lines, his scars –**

**Him.**

**Finally, she rested her slim hand on his heart. She stared and he would've gambled all the cards he owned to know what she was thinking. Unable to stay apart, he shifted gradually, wrapping his fingers around her wrist. She didn't start, just kept staring.**

"**Hear my heartbeat?" he barely murmured, unable to break the hushed serenity between them.**

**She didn't answer. He began to think she hadn't heard him when to his utter shock, she turned her head to bring it down on his chest. Right over his heart.**

**His lungs threatened to seize, but with control gleaned from years of it being so necessary for the pinch, he breathed in – and out, even. The weight of her head, her trailing torso, the perfume of her hair, the smoothness of her face, the puff of her own breath in echo – his blood threatened to fire him alive, but he just kept breathing, kept his heart rate even.**

**She rested and he couldn't think. Just be.**

**But all had to end. He tugged her into consciousness.**

"**T'ink time's up **_**chérie**_**. Wouldn't do to break the rules de first night." **

**He made his way out, slipping his shirt back on distractedly.**

"**Besides…"**

**He looked back at her, sprawled on her bed, her face dreamy in the dim light.**

"**Gotta plan."**

* * *

She'd caught him flat-footed again and the thought stung his pride. He'd misjudged the situation; that wasn't going to happen again. So he planned, he considered the matter carefully – and when he rolled on top of her, he knew he'd played his hand right. Locked together, she was just like any girl – he felt the sting of her skin when he feathered her forearms, brushed by her throat, her chin – just with a bite. And since when did that dissuade him? The mountain didn't have to be skirted or climbed over, one simply had to make the way through. All he needed was time; he could be patient. And if she didn't have that much tolerance, well, there was always creativity.

_**Touch was just the friction of two bodies after all.**_

* * *

"**Yah know dere's more ta touch than skin-to-skin…"**

**Her preoccupation with the bare basics, though he could understand it, was so narrow. Teaching her the intricacies, the dance of desire that did not confine itself to such a constricted scope, it was an idea as tempting as repeating the little tussle they'd just engaged in. Besides his fingers felt almost completely numb.**

"**Not that ah'm not more dan happy ta help yah practice dis, but Gambit's been known to be rather creative."**

**He'd had untouchable her dangling in his mind's eye for months now. He had plenty of ideas. After all, she was a **_**belle fille**_**. Getting to touch her with such liberality was more than a treat, especially considering how deprived she was – and how it made her go that delectable mixture of flushed cheeks and breathy intakes.**

"**Be more than glad to show yah."**

**She had no idea.**

"**Ah don't want that, ah want to be –"**

"**Normal?"**

**The word stirred up shadows he'd rather not face: peering from the alley edge as a mother fussed over her newly-messy blonde son, cat-calls of **_**Diable Blanc**_**, the pat on his back that assured him he was a t'ief forever.**

**He hated the word. He thought she had too, but – a vision of a visor flashes through his mind and a Boy Scout manner – **

"**Hate ta break this ta yah, but yeh ain't eva gonna be normal."**

**His voice was bland. She still shoved him away and he let her go, the cold of his fingers seeming to have seeped further in.**

"**Might as well embrace it."**

"**Like yah, Mr. 'I-Wear-Sunglasses-Inside'."**

**She was all glare, almost pout and scornful sneer – pure Rogue.**

**But then she surprised him, yet again.**

**Uncurling, she settled on him.**

**He blinked. He hadn't expected her surrender.**

**Not so quickly.**

**She looked up at him, defiantly close.**

"**What? You bail everytahme the goin' gets tough?"**

**And he marveled. Defiance and surrender, all pure Rogue. He's going to look forward to getting to know her. As for him? He pulled her closer, equally marveling at her determined ignorance. She really had no idea.**

"**Not eve'ytahme."**

**They would both learn.**

_**

* * *

**_

His estimation changed that day. This was not going to be a rush job; it was going to take careful preparation and time. But Gambit had never backed down from any job before. He wasn't sure that she understood that: the challenge wasn't the goal, wasn't actually having her, it was how he did it.

_**The contrast between night and day, honestly, just made the experience that much more scintillating. Her refusals and sharp retorts in the past had never really gotten under his skin. Some locks needed coaxing – and that was often the most enjoyable part. There was also, of course, the confidence he could get past it like he'd always done before. And now, when she turned up her nose at him or rolled her eyes, he could keep grinning, knowing it would only be a few hours before he got to wrap his fingers around this particular security system without resistance.**_

_**Except she was resisting. She didn't protest his touch, well not vocally, but the consistent prickle of her skin assured him it was doing the job she unconsciously left to it – making others stay away from her. It was ironic because, as he began to open his senses to her, let his empathy extend to brush the vibrating wealth of feeling she exuded, he could feel the heated half-hidden edge of a desperate desire to touch. She had to stop restraining it, abandon herself to the desire.**_

_**He was determined to break down that denial, though it was a bit hazy if he wanted to break down the wall to her touching - or him.**_

* * *

"_**Chérie**_**, what y' be doin' righ' now ain't tryin' ta relax. It be tryin' as hard as hell ta resist meh."**

"**Resist you?"**

"**De feelin's y' get from mah touch. Yah gotta let yourself go ta it."**

"**Yah supposed ta enjoy dis Rogue. It ain't supposed ta be work – relaxin' 's supposed ta be lettin' go, not tryin'. Lettin' go ta meh wun't be so bad, **_**non**_

_

* * *

_

Her protestation over his suaveness was a bit unexpected. Usually de

filles _considered it charming and fell over like an unsteady house of cards, but he could guess that Rogue felt uncomfortable over the fact he had experience far beyond hers. Charming, seducing, it had practically had become his modus operandi, effortless, natural. It made for a hardly level playing field though, so mentally he acquiesced to the complaint. It was just a different way to play the game, right?_

_**But when she gazed into his demon-red eyes and smiled, he realized he was completely unprepared for sincerity.**_

_**And only the fact he then realized just how deliberate Rogue had made her choice, picked her practice buddy, made the field even again.**_

* * *

"'**s that part of those empath powers?"**

"**Bit. Amplify what somebody already feeling or distort it ta make dem a tad more, flexible. Why yah ask?"**

"**Jus' wondering. Thought yah could use it ta know when ta stop during practice."**

"**Yah really t'ought dis out when yah picked meh."**

"**Well yeah. Didn't think ah just picked yah 'cuz yah 'good looks', did yah?" **

"**Oh, ah know yah did."**

_**

* * *

**_

There was also the fact her guess had been dead-on; he had begun using his senses to get in-sync with her. He'd begun using it in the half-half compromise of practice, to learn, memorize for himself, the feel of her emotions, her body, her mutation under control. He wasn't even sure it would work, but the idea he might be able to feel it switch on and off was motivating enough. It was odd to use it so; ever before he'd only dared opened himself when the payoff had been assured, manipulation the medium to ensure he got what he needed.

_**But the point was not for her to gain control through his manipulation. He didn't regret the kiss, feeling the warm press of her lips for longer than the fleeting second of her first icy attack, but he knew she needed it to be more than that. She needed the control to be real. It was her emotions, her mutation, her life. She had to become comfortable, and he was more than pleased that she'd come to him to be available for it.**_

_**And if such opportunities came outside, who was he to pass that up? He'd never really been one to contain himself too much and she was becoming more receptive to him, all around. It couldn't just be his imagination.**_

* * *

"**If ya keep strugglin', ah'm gonna get some more temptin' ideas."**

"**Let meh up."**

"**Aw com' on, how 'bout some motivation?"**

"**Ah don't think anahything ah'm thinking of would motivate ya to get off me."**

**It wasn't just his imagination. But then, the Boy Scout just had to interrupt them.**

"**Get off her Gambit." **

**Rogue flushed and Gambit felt like scowling at the timing. But he didn't show a sign, even if he did let his hand run up her maybe just a bit too familiarly.**

"**This is flag football, not touch Gambit."**

**Another one who had trouble calling him by name. He watched her as she patted herself off without daring to look at Scott. His teeth gritted, but he waved a hand in the air, dangling his conquest to interrupt the tirade.**

"**I got de flag."**

**He felt the heat of the boy's glare.**

"**That's not the point Gambit. Just because Rogue's getting a handle on touching doesn't mean you can be all over her Gambit!" **

**It bothered him, he realized later, after he got to enjoy the sight of Rogue telling off the tight-ass, then actually uttering the ludicrous statement she wasn't "asking to be man handled!" **

**The statement Cyclops had made wasn't completely accurate – but for all the boy knew, it was. And it bothered him.**

_**

* * *

**_

Her practice with him began to preoccupy him. For the first time, he really began to contemplate her mutation, how she'd been forced to adapt and how that adaptation would have to be overcome. She needed to be comfortable in her skin, instead of always hyperaware of it as a weapon. She'd become so careful to protect others, she'd denied her own need for contact. Even if she wasn't gaining control, it wouldn't have been healthy.

_**She needed and wanted to touch – she just had to accept that desire. That was a problem in and of itself. He'd never known, felt, someone who desired touch so strongly – and resisted it so hard, even if it didn't seem to be directed toward one specific person. Her desire scared her. For so long, she'd come to view it as a threat to others, perhaps even to herself. **_

_**He was even more resolved to help her get over this. He was so focused, he didn't even realize for the first time his thoughts revolved around ways to help versus ways to get around her mutation.**_

_**At the same time though, a strand of uncertainty began to chafe at him. With as tense as she got over kissing, was she serious about having sex with him? The presumption he'd walked in with seemed preposterous now. Not with how strongly she was still resisting him, even if it did just make him more determined.**_

_**And then she said it. **_**"Fuckbuddy." **

_**He wasn't prepared for the word, much less for it bothering him. It was more annoying because he didn't know why. He'd had more than his share; it was hardly a new proposition for him. But wasn't it supposed to mean more to women? Especially for their first time? Her casualness, cynicism bothered him. Stupid, really, considering she'd all but said the same when she'd made the offer to him.**_

"**Ah just need someone that ah can touch without it meanin' anaything."**

_**It was the perfect arrangement, wasn't it?**_

_**And then she kissed him.**_

**

* * *

**

He made sure that his muscles didn't tense, knowing just how big a step this was for her. Instead, he just angled her head into a better position, keeping his mouth tight and closed, no matter how much he wanted to

_**really **_**kiss her. An echo as his empathy entangled in her assured him he was not alone.**

**When they broke away, she panted and without prompting, his eyes fastened on her lips. Deep red, he could only imagine their shade after he tugged on them. But he restrained himself, instead slowly bringing her close to him.**

"**Wana try dat again, chérie?"**

"**Jus' give meh a minute, mistah ovaeaga."**

"**Only f' yah."**

**He waited for her to kiss him again, vindicated when she sought his mouth again. He engaged her a bit more with this one, but the real struggle was to keep his hands tight at her waist. He had to take care with her, knowing her fears and uncertainties. Her taking off her shirt had been an invitation, but this was the crossing of the threshold into real practice. Before had just been about contact – this was about desire, the tangling of lips, legs, and more. And she was learning. The kiss had been spontaneous, probably not completely on her part, but it meant she was learning. Learning that touch sometimes meant doing it as an outburst of want, emotion, because you practically couldn't help it – not just cool and deliberate calculation. **

**To not fear the unpredicted expression.**

**To be free to touch.**

**He wanted it all with her.**

_**

* * *

**_

And the more they practiced, the toying, inside and outside, became necessity – and she was giving in.

_**She agreed to the deal with minimal fuss, a token resistance, before even adding her flourish of a condition. He didn't think it would be hard. But trying to be her that day had given him a greater appreciation of her isolation. He'd never really understood how greatly he relied on and used the ability of touch to influence others, for good and not-so good motives. To comfort, to surprise, to amuse, to challenge – even the use of personal space, that Rogue so usually viciously enforced, had to be monitored. It was hard to stay apart from people and be, well, so alone. But he didn't have to be that way and he was on his way to convincing Rogue of the same fact.**_

"**Yah mine tonight Cajun."**

_**She was giving in.**_

_**Until that night, the night that changed everything. Until she'd called his bluff without warning. And suddenly he'd actually got an inkling of the real danger he was in.**_

**

* * *

**

He didn't realize when it started. Too wrapped up in touching her, tasting her – a desire that just intensified. He needed more, more contact and any inhibitions he'd been trying to stick to, went up in smoke. He wanted her so bad it ached inside like the charge that begged to get out. Except – he didn't quite feel so hot.

**His eyes opened and hers were too, but they were his eyes and he was moving back and she scrambled away.**

**His mind, his emotions were in a tangle – and he realized for the first time she'd been draining him without him even realizing, too caught up in her.**

**He hadn't noticed – and the thought terrified him. How much of him had she gotten?**

**And when she fled, all he could think was, was it worth it?**

* * *

He let his last card sizzle in his hand, before cutting down the last standing opposition. He never should've followed her; should've left her when she'd still seen him as Gambit. But the vengeful regret couldn't change the past.

**Was it worth it?**

The simulation announced his victory, but Remy felt no accomplishment. He stripped off his sweat-slicked shirt, remotely noting it would never be wearable again, and just stood there for a second, breathing in – and out.

His muscles burned and he focused on the pain. Nothing else mattered.

* * *

It was five long minutes later that he finally opened the DR's doors – right in time to almost walk into the middle of the 'kiddies'. Rahne squeaked, Jaime started and bumped into Bobby, caught mid-yawn, causing an avalanche of four Jaimes to sprawl to the ground. Logan turned around and narrowed his eyes.

Remy, improvising, looked them over, aware of the gawks he was receiving due to his bare chest. "Wolvie doin' early-mornin' practice wit' y'?" he asked generally. He winked at Jubilee, who giggled. "_Mes sympathies_." Logan scowled, but then his nostrils flared. Reflexively, Remy tensed, realizing he hadn't showered. He was still covered in Rogue's scent. But then he paused, keeping his eyes on the other adult X-Men who was scowling even fiercer. "Well, got de room warmed up for y'."

He walked off, brushing by the younger mutants, knowing Logan wouldn't stop him. It wasn't like the man didn't know anyway.

He wasn't able to prevent the last bitter thought.

Besides, it wasn't like it was going to happen again...

* * *

He stood in front of the mirror that night.

He would get through this.

She was just a girl.

He stared at the red marks where she had run her nails over his stomach in the mirror. They would be gone in a few days, leaving no traces. The thought makes him clench inside, but he won't, can't examine why.

Just a _femme_.

His fists clenched. He _would _get through this.

* * *

You can skip this part – just skim over that in **bold** or _italics_!

seyin800 (exactly my point!), Star-of-Chaos (uh-huh), RogueGoddess (thanks), mercuriancat, -apatheticallyxyours- (LOL), Lucky, abthetis, mm4ever2gether

Dikana (I'm so glad you took the time and effort to write me!! That is a compliment just by itself! And don't apologize – it is really hard to learn to read and write in another language well!! I'm so happy to have 'heard' from you!), Remy'sRose (lol), Catra (thanks!), RubyVenus (hun, nothing about these two is easy – and they don't even need others' 'help'), flaming-mod (thank you!), gambit-rogue, mistyxtc (slightly? -evil chuckle-), cream tea anyone (**absolutely: her emotions and the physical have **

**been intertwined then roughly separated – there's bound to be damage**), Musariven (thanks! And lol), X-Storm (yes! Support! NOT last chapter), thegambit23 (ah, I never really thought of another choice…), mazdamiatta (_Love doesn't always make you a better person – it's what you do with it. And Rogue, I think I'm trying to point out, wasn't ready for sex, intimacy, or love. She's is too 'freakin…paranoid!' I do agree there, but then hey – that's like the mirror of Remy. He ain't exactly the most forthcoming person out there_.)

Sassy18 (**Why does she keep going – because she couldn't give him up, not without admitting to herself why she's so bothered. She is being stand-offish, but she can't legitimize her feelings – feeling angry with him.**), Wildcard186 (yay! that's good!), Rogue181, ajax41 (Rogue's part in this emotional mess is definitely going to be highlighted by Remy. You noted the defense mechanism – she has to remind herself of his 'real' self when he's getting too close to her emotionally! Good eye! **Yes! You noted the fact Rogue is **_**biased**_** and reading everything according to how she sees Remy.** "There's a big difference between going home with a random girl from a bar and being expected to sleep with someone whom you have a fledgling emotional relationship/attachment to, live with, and have to work with on a daily basis. Just because he isn't a virgin doesn't mean he's automatically ready to take that step with her. Even if he's every bit as promiscuous as Rogue believes, it can't be assumed that he's ready to bed any girl in any given situation." Soooo true._"Is his psyche running around in her head yelling, "I just hate your hips, dey fat and ugly."?" LOL!!_ "Even if he does hand compliments out like candy it doesn't make them any less genuine or sincere, less special maybe but not less genuine." Ah one reason, but also, he used the l-word. Rogue's as skittish of that word as Remy really is. Besides, how many girls have physical hang-ups?), ashez2ashes (oh, read Kirsten Elizabeth's Unexpected, on top of being an all-around awesome fic it deals with this, in comic universe), Catra, romylover, Nocturnalwitch (-blush!-), Captain Annie (_people looking forward to Rogue crushing Remy, read on_), ashez2ashes (lol! – I got you to this from HP, lol!), gambits girl (lol! Thanks – I actually added the imperfections as a later revision, but I really liked it. _Too many people just keep gushing on and on about physical perfection. Oy, come on! It's the imperfections that make them even slightly realistic._ And ah – you anticipated something…)

thriller (Spot-on – how did she evaluate the hand jobs in Ch.8? By power dimensions! He's had the upper hand all this time (_though if you look at the last two chapters, a lot of things reversed_.) Uh the flaws? –smirk- That was actually pretty easy for me, also just listed some personal dislikes of Evo Gambit's design./"she couldnt kiss him because she wanted, needed to kiss Remy...but _doesn't that mean the practice is all for nothing because she's got attached..._" –evil chuckle-/Oh Warren will be upcoming! Think I could resist that after Gambit stole from him?!), Cerdwyn3 (thanks! LOL! I'll deal with being an 'agonizing' 'tease'!), nuriiko (absolutely), TheInflictedFinger (lol), rubic-cube,

Pyrinsomniac (Oh, it is such an interesting thought – why exactly is Remy such a touchy person? And he had to stop wearing gloves to be with her… I'll be delving into all that! "It's not certain that he knows how deep her feelings run (or, for that matter, that Rogue knows- or admits to herself- how much their affair, and Remy, mean to her.)" So true! Power dimensions…/Oh yeah – I'm going to be working a lot with the fact dynamics between people change, sometimes slowly, sometimes very quickly with the use of a catalyst. This physical intimacy is a catalyst and –clucks tongue- ah, more would be spoiling. **Good ponderings on the psyche, but I see it as part of her withdrawing in the most crucial sense, contrasted to her embrace of the psyche the chapter before – though also, the psyche is dated – after she's stopped absorbing him, it no longer has access to Remy's current state of emotions. And if Remy hasn't come to the point he's comfortable with dealing with his emotions for her – what's the psyche going to say? Also, the connection between him and Real Remy will be explored later.** "Hmm. I think Rogue's not the only one who hates to lose control and share... -glances sideways at Gambit, who shrugs innocently-" Two of a kind, unfortunately. _We'll get to Remy's powers down the line – it hasn't been as much a concern for her as for him._ I loved the whole balcony feel there – and we all do notice it's Remy coming at Rogue's beckoning right? "WHERE THE HELL IS MY FLUFFY ANIME ROSES AND SUNSHINE ENDING?" LOL!), Yezabel, Forever-Dawn (um, good?), Chica De Los Ojos Café (oh yeah…), Coldqueen (-whistles innocently-), MidniteAngelGoth (LOL! And tears, oh my…)


	11. Without strings

I better get major reviews for this puppy! I almost freakin' hit 40 pages in Word!! (There will be no more chapters this long EVER AGAIN – but hey! I'm officially half-way through the story.) Of course, major flash-back alert. Hold your horses for the next one though, I'm just about tapped out for now. It'll only have two more flashbacks and we'll finally really move ahead with the plot. Remy's goin' on a miss-ion...

But Wolverine, well, he'll be explained this chapter and next.

And sorry y'all, no more Rogue p.o.v. for at least four more chapters!!

* * *

Thanks to all my lovely reviewers!!: saucydeviant ("I haven't really considered it before but a person's psychological condition is greatly affected by their physical one also." Heck yeah! The link between mind-body is still puzzled over, but very real!), gambit-rogue (anything in particular?), Rogue181 (uh-huh), Remy'sRose, X-Storm (-evil chuckle- Remy in denial, what a thought…), flaming-mod (some qs about Logan definitely answered here and **honestly, their feelings already have been showing in public)**, mistyxtc (I love that! "reasonably warped emotionally"), animefan135 (OY!), cream tea anyone (-Big- grin!), Sbgchan, Wanda W ("She is definitely not the only one stepping outside her comfort zone with no safety net in sight. Remy is way out of his league on this one." Absolutely!), Coldqueen (lol, um but what is FRAK?), Stacey, _ishandahalf_ ("how unlike him, her touch wasn't a means to an end..." – that's huge for him. "remy seems to be very clear on his initial motives, but rather in the dark about the turn his feelings have taken. delightfully ironic, considering he's an empath" (-big, Big grin-:)), SouthernLoner, ashez2ashes (erm, that was a really long time ago, pre-different alerts), Chica De Los Ojos Café (totally agree about love & logic unmixy unfortunately)

Mazdamiatta (No I am not a guy, but thanks for the compliment! "I would never date him now that I know his mentality but than again he's not called Gambit for nothing." Lol! **"Statistically guys have a harder time getting over hurt than girls. That's why most of them become players and whores." (double huh, what statistic is this?)** Cool song, but well, oh stay tuned…

Sassy18 – "She ends their "association" before they get more attached to eachother" (huh) I think it's also because she does love him – she can't bear to just 'play' anymore. But she doesn't think a real relationship is something he'd be interested or possibly would even work. Getting 'along' sexually vs. relationally are two different things, even if they really are intertwined. "Loved that you had Rogue try to open up and tell him her name but Remy stops her (a la the original X-Men comics)..." (Yes! Someone caught that!) "he cases her like any other job, until he understands..." – I don't completely believe in automatic uncontrollable attraction, especially not in this case, so I wanted to give a broader basis of his interest. "Loved that Remy couldn't stand her touching him just to touch another person, not just him...Really made that scene better, made Remy more human..." Oh yeah…

Best quotes:

Saucydeviant: "Rogue is just a basketcase." LOL!

And!!

Chica De Los Ojos Café: "They're so screwed in so many ways." LOL!

Oh, and song belongs to The Fray: "Over My Head (Cable Car)."

* * *

It Takes Two...to Practice

* * *

12) Without Strings

Or

Them's the breaks

_

* * *

_

Three and a half weeks.

_23 days._

_X hours. (He wasn't so sad as to know that. But how even to count it? Just the nights or the days as well? It occurred to him that he usually liked math. D- her.)_

_And yet they all simply vanished as if they had never happened in the first place._

* * *

"Evening ladies," he said to the room at large. Jubilee and the younger girls giggled from where they were picking up platters. He walked further into the room and she was there.

Their eyes met and – nothing.

His grin stayed static and coolly, Rogue simply looked away.

She grabbed napkins and headed to the dining room. "'s about time to eat, people!"

He didn't watch her leave. He didn't, even if his eyes did face that direction…

Pride demanded he play the whole thing off. Prove to her it all meant nothing. Her rej-refusal to continue was fine with him. Less fun, but he'd had his. He'd had her, in more ways than one, and, and that was enough. He'd gambled, beaten the odds and swept the table – there was no reason to be re-examining the bets, questioning if it'd been worth it.

That night he found himself turning to the window, hand on the sash before reality coldly asserted itself. He didn't have to use that exit because that destination no longer existed.

Not for him.

Not anymore.

He went to the door instead, running through his options. He had no desire to remain in his room, a tomcat restrained within four walls. No, the energy beating in his blood demanded an outlet and he'd been far too long without one. _Not._

The club _Inferno_ came first to mind, but – **your girl** – it was too far for him that night.

He just had to get out; it didn't matter where.

He refused to dwell on the fact it felt bizarre to be alone - without her.

Mixing with the crowd, winking at a pretty big blond with his brown eyes, knocking back a vodka on the rocks _no bourbon, no Absolut, no Southern Comfort for him_; he took another shot –

This was him.

And no _femme_ could change that.

_

* * *

_

He was, after all, the Gambit. Giving up her (something inside knots at the thought but he ignores it) was a small thing for his freedom.

* * *

I never knew

I never knew that everything was falling through

That everyone I knew was waiting on a queue

To turn and run when all I needed was the truth

But that's how it's got to be

It's coming down to nothing more than apathy

I'd rather run the other way than stay and see

The smoke and who's still standing when it clears

* * *

"So if I'm gonna be a good girl for Jameson-" She was talking to Kitty, striding down the hall just radiating annoyance.

"Roguey, _une bonne fille_?" Theatrically, his hand went over his heart. "Never!"

She stopped walking to glare at him, the dark impression of her eye shadow seeming even darker than normal. "Swamp rat, butt outta mah business."

"Oh c'mon _chérie_," the title slipped out from habit and his throat tightened. But that wasn't such a new occurrence and he ignored it. "not a complaint." He grinned dazzlingly. "Remy like a girl up ta no good."

She stared at him for a second – and in that second, the faint loosening of her shoulders, he thought he actually saw – but then she sneered.

"'Course you do."

And he was left not knowing what he thought he'd saw.

Or even what he wished he'd seen.

_

* * *

_

But it wasn't the same.

* * *

Offended pride, however, demanded that acting normal wasn't enough. How dare she fold so early – walk away from the table while he was still ready to play? As if the stakes suddenly weren't worth it? And, he really had to cut back on the card game analogies.

He scrutinized his options again.

Ignore her. Pro: begin to pay attention to other areas too long neglected; return basically her own attitude towards him. Con: could be construed as him unable to deal with her; not paying attention to her would probably be a relief for her. His jaw tightened and he moved on.

Raze her. Pro: the thought gave him giddy head rushes of satisfaction; Rogue was never so inflamed as when she was aroused or angry. Given his current hands-off handicap… Con: could be interpreted as him angry at her, bringing up questions of why from outsiders; could signal Rogue that he was more affected by their whole affair than she was. Which he hadn't been. Even if she seemed completely unmoved by the experience now – his teeth gritted and he re-visited the pro position for a few more minutes.

Avoid her. Same issues at ignoring her.

Still flirt lightly with her – maintain the status quo.

It was the wisest course of action, that was plain, but – it was like picking a scab. He hadn't realized how much he'd come to relish the barbed playing along with his flirtations or at least, the half-smiling co-conspiracy of their ragging banter. It had been like sharing an inside joke, the knowledge it was all practically foreplay.

But now she turned up her nose at him and left him out in the cold.

The need to get under her skin chafed his own.

* * *

"_D'accord._"

"O.K."

"Ah, don' pronounce the last 'd'. The French neva pronounce d'end, 'cept for 'c', 'r', 'f', an' 'l'."

"Is that why you cut off so many end consonants?"

"Bit." His shrug was careless.

"_D'accor-_"

"_Bien_."

"_Fille._"

"Girl."

"_Garçon_."

"Boy."

"De 'c', it's got a cedille – that fish-hook looking t'ing. Dat means de 'c' gets said soft, like 's' versus 'k'. _D'accord_?"

In all his life, Remy had never pictured himself in this position – 'teacher' for a half dozen wide-eyed high-schoolers. But then again, he'd done a lot of things he never would've anticipated since coming up North. This one however, had definitely not been his idea.

"_D'accord_!" It was a chorus this time.

* * *

"**When you formally accepted my offer to dwell here Remy, we discussed the terms under which this arrangement would operate." Xavier paused and Remy, though his face remained nonchalant, felt stirrings of unease. He wasn't going to try to renegotiate, was he? "You are free to come and go, but will attend training sessions and be on call for missions of a sensitive nature. However, it has occurred to me that you may want more to do than simply being available."**

"**More to do?"**

"**Well yes. You have certain skills that could benefit the younger students. For instance, your knowledge of foreign languages and your own extensive physical conditioning regime."**

**He contemplated the idea. **

* * *

"_Femme_."

"Oh that's easy," Jubilee jumped to answer. She fluttered her lashes a bit, smiling at Gambit. "Beautiful woman."

"Sorry _petite_." His grin was a tad sympathetic, even if he mentally had to restrain his exasperation. They were only practicing very basic words for the kids' first review test. And _femme _was practically a cognate.

"Small," chimed Tabby with a smirk, finally dropping her bored expression. She wasn't in the French class, but his little tutoring section for Rahne, Jaime, and Jubilee had somehow mushroomed into a gathering of all the New Mutants. The appeal seemed to be a mix of himself (Amara's blush would seem to indicate so), the language (Roberto at least seemed to be comparing it to Spanish), or just seeing their teammates humiliating themselves trying to communicate in it (undoubtedly the root of Tabby's presence).

"But that's what you always say!" Jubilee protested.

He spoke over her protest. "Bu' dat be _belle femme_."

"_Belle_ – like the Disney movie?" Jaime asked.

"_D'accord_!" Rahne seemed pleased to be able to apply her new knowledge.

Remy winced. The butchering of his home language, or at least a variant, by sole-English speakers always made him cringe. "Actually, _d'accord_ is to agree wit' a statement, not ansa a question. You want _c'est vrai_."

"What does that mean?"

"That's right."

"Huh?" And he had agreed to this why again?

"Whatcha up to swamp rat?"

* * *

"**What about the older students?" It was a loaded question and Remy watched the telepath carefully for any signs the older man knew about the little offer he'd just received. Still, it couldn't hurt to fudge the issue. He splayed his hands and gave a cocky grin. "Sure I could teach Scotty something."**

**Xavier met his eyes evenly. "I leave that decision in their hands. They are old enough to make their own arrangements." He paused, peering over his steepled hands. "I'm sure you can work out those details with them personally."**

**Remy kept his face still. **

**Well, wasn't that interesting.**

* * *

"Jus' being helpful." Immediately, his eyes hooded, peering at Rogue sideways. His fingers twitched.

"You?" Her tone was hostile and his jaw stiffened ever so slightly. "What, they payin' you off with chocolate cigarettes?" It was mild scorn and somehow, that just made it harder to swallow.

He scoffed, leaning back against his chair. "Like I'm dat cheap." He watched her carefully. And maybe…maybe he was attracted to pain.

"Xavier asked him to," Bobby sniped from his position leaning against a wall. His crossed arms now looked less casual and more restrained angry. Remy flicked his eyes over the audience, noting the keen gaze Tabby was looking between them both. But he didn't miss the startled, then assessing look of Rogue. He turned back to the small crowd.

"Bonus time." Grins spread over his study group, but his attention wasn't on them. He looked defiantly over at Rogue.

"_Connasse_."

Rogue's eyes narrowed. "I know that one."

"Imagine dat," he drawled.

She frowned. "You shouldn't be teachin' them swears."

He shrugged indolently. "'s important they know 'em. Make sure they don't insult someone accidentally."

"Of course not accidentally," she mocked, giving him a long look. Their eyes met rapier-sharp. Finally, she tossed her hair. "Then maybe ah cin help." She eyed him shrewdly before throwing it, like bloody bait to shark. "_Bibette_."

Remy's eyes narrowed this time. "Dat's Cajun," he said clipped.

Her eyes became mockingly large. "Imagine that."

"Rogue!"

She turned, registering Kitty's waving form. With only a single glance back, she turned on her heel.

"Guess I can't help further," the words trailed after and his fists clenched uncontrollably.

But he didn't follow her. Not again.

**

* * *

**

She fled from him.

**His first instinct had been to take stock of his condition. He felt as if his skin had been laced with frostbite – or so he assumed frostbite must feel, though he'd never actually experienced it before. And he gasped in the light-headed evidence she had definitely drained him. Without him even f-ing realizing it.**

**His next panicked check had been his mental blocks. Ever since the beginning of his practice, he'd been perfecting maintaining his mental walls while still opening his empathetic senses. It had been difficult maintaining the paradox, but he'd been pleased with the results so far as he'd been able to tell. But this time – had he been so successful?**

**She fled from him.**

**He'd looked over at her, her eyes big, but not green – the red-on-black glared back at him and he felt his stomach twist. She had drawn him in deep this time and he felt fear of her absorption for the very first time. **

**But it wasn't what she could do to him. **

**No, it was what she could take from him.**

**She fled from him and it took him a minute to realize the real reason why. His empathy was still engaged, still entangled with her and – even fleeing down the hall, he could feel the echo, vibrating all the way to throb inside him. A Siren's call.**

**The acrid taste of her pain, her fear, her despair. **

**It was that, her despair that haunted him the most. He knew what being out of control felt like, the dizzying sinking sensation that the world has just spun completely from its axis and there's not a d- thing you can do to stop it or fix it; he couldn't bear to see her, her of all people, broken by it.**

**He couldn't not go to her.**

**Walking down the hall, well half-staggering, he pushed aside his own doubts, his own fears. This was about her, not him. Apparently she hadn't absorbed so much of his mind.**

**However, he told himself he could only go as far as she let him, not beyond –**

"**Let me in **_**chérie."**_

"**Jus' leave meh alone Remy! Ah-ah – Y' shou'n't be nea' meh!"**

**The quiver of her voice was unmistakable – as well as trill that went down his spine at her use of his name. Like now, now she knew **_**him.**_

"**Let me be the one to decide dat **_**chérie."**_

– **but as he picked the lock, he felt the depth of that lie. **

"**Ah ain't leavin' yah Rogue."**

**He could not turn away from her, not now, and he would use each and every advantage he had to get in – into her. **

"**We gonna get through dis Rogue."**

**The game's stakes had just been raised.**

"**Dat's a promise."**

**He ignored the voice inside that mocked him – what were his promises worth?**

_**

* * *

**_

When she covered herself in an overkill of layers, he could practically see the shields being raised one by one with each slide against her lovely, deadly skin. And as he tucked her to his side, trying to offer the comfort she refused to accept, he knew he would have to break her down and he would; this wasn't a game he or she could afford to lose.

**

* * *

**

He had just swung onto the roof when –

**"What happened?"**

**The growl came out of nowhere and his feet slipped. Slippery-fingered, his hands scrabbled to the shingles – and Wolverine grabbed him. Hauling him fully unto the roof with one hand, he dropped the younger man ungracefully on the roof.**

**With slit, shrewd eyes, he asked again.**

**"What happened?" **

**Remy arranged himself into a lounging position, pulling out a cigarette at the same time to soothe his shot nerves. He kept his hands in shadow to cover the fact they were still a bit shaky. He'd forgotten why he waited down there, hoping to outstay the inevitable energy drain she inflicted. But he hadn't even sensed the other man up here. He took a drag of the cigarette. D-, she packed a punch.**

**He shrugged infuriatingly. "De **_**chere **_**an' Gambit jus' g' a bit carried away." He wanted to say something more vulgar, but – **_**on the floor of the bathroom, she clutched herself shaking so hard, holding in the tears **_**- he couldn't muster the energy. Besides Wolverine was liable to gut him for anything too crude. Knowing about the affair and abiding to the agreement to butt out, didn't make the guardian any happier about it happening.**

**Predictably, the other man's still sheathed fist clenched.**

**"I smelled her fear."**

**Remy tensed reflexively, his stomach clenching. **_**He **_**hadn't felt it though, suffocating her with every ragged breath. Too forcefully, he pitched his cigarette away. "It was nothing. I took care of it." **

**His voice was too tight and impatiently he didn't wait to see the response, just turned to go. His leg shifted off-balance on the first step and he barely caught himself in time. He ignored the fact Wolverine had shifted to catch him, just in case.**

**He felt Wolverine's eyes bore into his back as he slipped into the night.**

**

* * *

**

_It was only the next day, when he'd realized Rogue had somehow managed to sic the redhead on him, after she slipped out of the Danger Room without using the locker room and managed to get out of the house without him getting within fifty yards of her, that the fear of her absorption returned. _

**_Just how much had she seen? Had she dreamed something? He'd overheard enough from Kitty and Kurt to know she could dream others' memories and nightmares. What could have made so afraid she couldn't stand to even see him?_**

**_Not knowing was like an itch infecting his brain. But he wasn't able to relieve it._**

**

* * *

**

He'd just gotten to the kitchen door, already plotting how exactly he could get to the school first, grab Rogue before she entered school – or his mind whirled with possible excuses he could offer the school secretary for pulling her out of class for a few minutes.

**Belatedly he recognized the form wheeling into the doorway.**

**D- it.**

**Xavier looked up at him and he stilled under the gaze.**

"**Remy, just who I wanted to talk to."**

"**Oh?" he asked, leaning against the door with a nonchalance he didn't feel. Distantly, he heard the sound of an engine start – and she moved further out of reach.**

"**I couldn't help notice this morning you seemed," he paused and Remy could fill in the blank. **_**Uncoordinated. Awkward. Unable to perform usual tasks without difficulty.**_** Jeannie should've been able to corner him so easily or effectively. She'd actually been able to eliminate him from the game – prior, he'd only ever been tagged by accident and he winced at the blemish to his reputation. Then again, there was also the fact he'd almost walked into a wall he hadn't anticipated… "Preoccupied," Xavier offered instead generously. "Is there anything you might wish to discuss with me?"**

**He resisted the urge to curl his hands, cursing Wolverine, f-ing tattletale. "It ain't nothing I can't handle," he dismissed, with a tad more firmness than he wished to convey. Xavier scanned his face carefully and out of old habit, Remy strengthened his mental blocks.**

**But Xavier just nodded. "I trust your judgment." Remy felt the unnerving impulse to shuffle his feet, but he stifled it. "Nonetheless, I would ask that you would see Hank, for my own peace of mind."**

**Remy's lips compressed, but he simply shrugged. "Sure, ain't like Gambit got anything betta t' do."**

**He cursed mentally, but in Cajun, just in case.**

**

* * *

**

"I watched the video from today's Danger Room session. Perhaps you'd like to describe your difficulties?"

**It wasn't the first time he'd been in this position. Before he began training the students, Xavier had tacked on the condition of regular check-ups. Remy had a known distaste for **

**doctors and anything associated with the Med Lab, but he also knew that others practicing with Rogue had a similar requirement. He acquiesced to the demand.**

"**It's a bit difficult t' concentrate and use all mah senses at once."**

"**All your senses?" Hank asked curiously. "Is this restricted to the base five or concentrated in your mutant capabilities?"**

**Remy shifted on the clothed seat. He hated medical offices and questions – almost as much as he minded probing telepaths.**

"**Mutant mostly, **_**mais **_**mah eyes ti'ed out."**

**Hank nodded comprehensively, writing on his notepad, his glasses slipping slightly down his furry nose. **

"**So your spatial sensory input is difficult to coordinate with your physical sensory input – do you feel the input itself has been compromised?"**

**Remy grimaced inwardly; he knew that wall was going to come back to haunt him.**

**He nodded however, hating the fact he had to answer the questions as fully as possible. Hank had given him that lecture the first time.**

"**To what degree?"**

**This was even harder to admit. "It's jus' beginnin' to come back now." Faintly, he could feel the vibration of the pencil brush against the notepad Hank held. It was a far cry from his normal perception.**

"**And your bio-kinetic abilities?"**

"**Takes longer t' charge an' don't think I cin charge as high as usual." This led to the inevitable hooking up to cables and tests to compare just how exactly his senses were functioning in comparison to his 'normal.' Up to this point, her effects had been manageable: a drag of time when trying to use his mutant abilities, being more tired out just about all the time, getting disoriented or even cold more easily, being unable to pursue as rigorous tasks as he was used to. But he'd adjusted.**

**The doctor never asked the obvious next question: why, the most obvious proof Remy had that Hank knew the answer. He was relieved not to speak of it; he didn't want to speak to anyone but Rogue about last night. Besides, they'd agreed not to speak of their arrangement outside. Remy wondered if Xavier had anticipated that.**

**But then Hank asked the question.**

"**Will I be seeing you again in the future?"**

**He stiffened reflexively. "'Course." Sliding off the table, he ignored Hank's intent look.**

**But he had to wonder if that would remain the answer. He stifled the thought, but her avoidance had stirred up shadows not easy to put away. She couldn't quit now; what could convince her to do so?**

**The worst thought was that he already knew exactly what.**

_**

* * *

**_

He planned, he plotted - anything to avoid the nagging voice, the one that told him he did have much to fear - why the hell would she want to keep going with you Diable?

_**But he'd felt her desire – could his own desire have confused his own senses so? It seemed laughable, but…**_

**Vixen.**

_**He wasn't laughing.**_

_**Her continued avoidance and then the dark void of her room did nothing to allay such a voice. She'd always been there before, waiting for him, sometimes even impatiently. His knuckles whitened from the tension of his fists. As the minutes strung out, so did his nerves - but he hadn't brought his smokes, though he couldn't have lit up anyway. He wasn't going to give her any additional ammunition. Not when she surely didn't need it.**_

_**His eyes still flicked longingly to the balcony - and it occurred to him how simple it would be for him to simply walk out them. Cut his losses and run. But -**_

**she was clutching herself so hard he could see the pressure mar her pure white skin**

_**- he couldn't.**_

**

* * *

**

She opened the door quietly and he felt the irrational urge to shove her into it. He let it pass.

"'**s bout time you showed up. Beginin' to t'ink y' skipped ou' tanight."**

"**Yah shouldn't be here swamp rat."**

**So calm; the tension in him just coiled further.**

"**Told yah help y' get through dis. An' dat a locked door ain't gonna keep me out."**

**His stomach clenched just in memory of that moment of discovery. He walked forward, as if it could counteract the distance she was forcing between them. **

"**I don' know why ah absorbed yah Remy."**

**Remy. His name was jarring off her still painted lips, exquisite pain. Something released within him.**

**And suddenly there was hope.**

"**Ah can't –"**

"**So weh find out. I ain't throwin' 'way all our progress." **

"**I'm not afraid."**

**It was a lie. **

"**Yeah right–"**

**But not how she thought it was. He wasn't afraid of her touch, not physically.**

**So he touched her, fingers to chin, only gloved for her protection. **

**He wouldn't let her run and hide. If he couldn't - then neither could she.**

"**I was caught off guard Rogue. But I'm not afraid. Why are you?"**

"**You should be!" **

**She answered his question - and the irony was enough to make him reach for her.**

"**Damn it Remy, you should be! I'm poison- All of me – Can't you see?!" **

Her pain, her fear, her despair...

_**You ain't nothing but mutant scum LeBeau.**_

**Rejection was unbearably bitter - and so he reached for her, despite her pleas.**

"**Don't do this Remy. Ah-"**

**God help him, he never could resist a damsel in distress.**

"**You're not a monster."**

**He would know.**

**

* * *

**

_And finally, finally the Jericho walls came crashing down._

**_He finally released his empathy, throwing it out like a life raft, even to draw out every exquisite, heart-rending drop of pain. But -_**

**_Exactly four days before, Wolverine had managed to get in a blow right under his rib cage, with all the tempered dislike and thwarted disgust mixed into that single hit during their hand-to-hand 'practice'. It had knocked the breath of life right out of him, making his very senses all wink out like the lights at the Big Easy on an especially humid night. The disorienting vertigo -_**

**_It was like déjà vu and he nearly buckled, only her new strong grip and his own already wrapped arms keeping him in place._**

**

* * *

**

It took him a full minute to realize what had happened. His empathy had rebounded.

**His mind raced, matching it to his only ever other experience: when he'd inadvertently tried to charm a telepath with some empathic ability. Her shields had encompassed her emotions and openly repelled his attempt to manipulate them. It hadn't hurt that bad though, most likely because he usually asserted his empathy much more cautiously.**

**On auto-pilot, he held onto her, murmuring soothing statements, regardless of the water, salt, and makeup running to stain his shirt.**

**Apparently, she had absorbed quite a bit of him.**

**But…he couldn't fold now.**

_**

* * *

**_

He'd lost an advantage, but it didn't mean the end of the game. His empathy was usually only a last resort, a strategic reserve. He'd become too entranced with using it, intoxicated with the emotions that consumed her for the very first time.

_**Actually, this was a helpful development. Without such access into her, he wouldn't get so lost in her. Not like the previous night. Not again.**_

_**So he kept playing. He was Gambit after all. There were a million ways to maneuver and he knew most of them. He cracked a joke, **_**kept touching her, **_**kept the atmosphere light, kept her close, read her body language, **_**kept touching her, **_**put into action the back-up plan he'd long ago considered, watched her, played glib, flirtatious, **_**kept touching her, **_**pushed her into more exposure like always, demanded her pants, her gloves off, **_**kept touching her, **_**coaxed her, reassured her, **_**kept touching her –**

_**He couldn't stop touching her…**_

_**She ducked her head beneath the sheet and he was amused by her shyness, especially considering the play of light and shadows was nothing to his eyes. And when he kissed her forehead, he knew that this touch was much more than desire, than the friction between two bodies.**_

_**But he couldn't stop touching her.**_

**

* * *

**

And finally she reached for him.

**He hated the sheet in that moment, but he had to love her desire, the affirmation yes she did want him, she was just afraid – of herself. If he could just get her to focus on the touch, the pleasure… And she seemed receptive, skimming him even more boldly than she usually did.**

**And ever so tentatively, he sent out the tendrils of his empathy to creep around the barrier he could now tell was in place. It held firm, but didn't repel him as before – and as he brushed against it, he could feel the throbbing echoes of her delight. And he knew he would get in.**

**In a rush of relief-tinged euphoria, he flipped them over. Her sudden squeak made him want to laugh out loud.**

"**What de hell-"**

"**Jus' t'ought y' might wan'a switch i' up a li'l."**

"'**Kay."**

**She straddled him and he had to force himself not to rock against her, reminding his libido the importance of going slow. So he stayed still while she molded him through the fabric. With the light behind her, he could make her out quite well, only the exact expression of her face eluding him. But his empathy, still winding around her defenses, did pick up the moment something changed.**

**He reached for her, curling against her side, trying to discern what had happened.**

"**Rogue?"**

**With a shudder, she crashed down upon him, curling as close as the sheet would allow – and he cursed that he couldn't see her face, sense her.**

"**Ah want ta touch you."**

**He could hear the hint of tears and that was enough – Rogue was heart-breaking in her own.**

**And he couldn't deny her.**

"**I know."**

"**I hate this! Ah don' wanna be a prisona fa the rest of mah life! D- it!"**

**A prisoner to one's mutation, one's life. She did not rage alone.**

"**Oh **_**chérie**_**, y' will get dis. **_**Je le sais."**_

**This empathy had nothing to do with powers, but he reached out nonetheless, his echo enfolding her – and ever so gingerly, it crept beyond her walls.**

"**And how 'xactly do you know?"**

"**Yah too stubborn ta not to."**

**It was an honest sentiment, but an evasion.**

**And then she nailed him to the wall.**

"**Yah just sayin' that 'cuz you wan' ta sleep with me." **

**He just, reacted. There was no first rationalization, moment to think, to plan – the barb slipped straight in, feathered with the reassurance it was said completely honestly. And equally, his reaction was laced with the reality – it wasn't simply for that – and in that moment, he wished it was.**

"**Remy!" **

**He wanted to throw the sheet away, make her look at him as exposed as he was, but he gave it back, watching as she began to insulate herself again – from him.**

"_**Dieu**_** Rogue, dis ain't 'bout me. I t'ought, **_**vraiment-"**_

**He did want her, craved touching her too much.**

**But there was more.**

"**Dis be 'bout you Rogue, y' gettin' control. It ain't 'bout me an' what ah want!"**

"**Ah know that Gambit. Don' gotta be rude 'bout it."**

**She retreated behind frostiness and he realized he'd hurt her feelings. For all Rogue was, she was still just a girl in some ways. And she still wanted to be wanted, attractive, no matter how she denied it.**

"**Dat ain't what ah meant ta say."**

**He'd fumbled. Cursing, he tried to figure out the best way out of this mess. But he didn't know. He didn't know how to explain, to make it better.**

**So, for once in his life, he told the truth.**

**He took off his gloves.**

"**Yah wanna know why Remy wears gloves?"**

**And he held out a hand.**

"**Started wearin' gloves so de charge went dere first. Gave meh time ta le' go of stuff 'fore it started to charge. Din' always have 'nough time ta get de gloves off dough."**

**And showed his scars.**

**He knew what it was like to find yourself suddenly, unpredictably out of control. She didn't flinch or pity him, and it means more to him than he could possibly…**

"**Took meh nearly **_**duex années**_** ta get it totally under control. Took meh longer ta learn how ta reabsorb a charge. Kept da gloves dough, jus' in case."**

**He didn't add he'd made up for those two years ten-fold. Touch had become his conquest, his badge of victory – until…**

**He told the truth. Or at least part. But it was as much as he could give.**

**And she reached for him – but stopped to go for her gloves. He thwarted her like always, feeling vaguely unsettled by his own voluntary revelation.**

**The gamble, the gambit, would be worth it – for her bare touch.**

_**

* * *

**_

And it paid off.

_**It wasn't until the next night –**_

"**Ah think ah know why ah started ta absorb."**

"_**N'ayez pas peur**_**, hein?"**

_**No fear – he wasn't sure who he'd been trying to reassure.**_

"**Told yah ah'd get yah through this."**

_**He hadn't realized how true those words were.**_

"**I want, wanted- ta be closer ta yah. Ah was excited an' wan'ed more."**

_**The flattering meaning, that she'd wanted him so much, paled in view of what it had incited.**_

"**If ah knew more about yah. If we got closer, lahke friends, then mah mutation would be les' likely ta come on."**

_**How much of him would she need to know to kill that desire?**_

"**Secret for secret. Quid pro quo."**

_**Impossible.**_

_**And yet…**_

_**He stopped her apology, her thanks, her good-bye. It should have been right, but…**_

_**She'd said Gambit.**_

_**Was that all he was?**_

* * *

"**Y' really want ta go on practicin' wit' me?"**

"**If yah willin' ta go through-"**

"**No' de question. Do yah, Rogue, want meh, Remy?"**

"**Yes."**

"**Y' suhre yah wan' ta chance it wit' dis swamp rat?"**

_**

* * *

**_

She had to be sure.

_**He had to be.**_

_**And he didn't give her time to regret it, pushing her again, plying her in the ways he was quickly learning drove her crazy, very, very carefully coaxing her new empathetic barrier into yielding open to him…**_

_**And finally, he pulled himself away, feeling the hum of her mutation adjoining the buzz of arousal and nip at his fingers – hungrily after his energy.**_

_**And finally, he asked for a secret. He could do this, he could control this exchange.**_

_**But – she amazed him. Like always.**_

"**Ah've never felt this way before."**

_**He had to look away, but the words burbled up despite him.**_ _**How much closer could they get?, lingered in the back of his brain.**_

"**I neva considered sayin' non."**

_**-the next night that she raised the stakes and he realized even as she asked, he'd already bet it all.**_

_**He had to keep playing.**_

* * *

It only got harder.

"What makes yah think weh gonna want ta eat something from Cajun country?" She leaned against the counter, looking disinterested into the pot he was stirring.

"Some people like de spice," he clucked his tongue.

He poured more in defiantly.

"Not that much." She wrinkled up her nose.

"Well, a _homme_ likes to enjoy de work of his hands." He ran his hot eyes over her and felt an almost vicious thrill when the tip of her cheeks tinted. But then Scott and Alex entered and she was normal, pale Rogue who barely even looked at him, walking out, and he was just the unlucky flunky who'd had his name picked to fix dinner.

His good mood soured and his fingers clutched the ladle too tightly.

How could she be so damn untouchable?

* * *

At the next general practice, he complained that he had more students to supervise than certain others.

"Gambit," her voice was like ice to him, "don't be such a child," her disdain poison.

"No child."

Had she so quickly forgotten?

The anger, it felt too raw and he covered it with a smirk, hooking his gloved thumb in his belt loop. But she just glared and the anger burned brighter.

* * *

The card sizzled in his hands, beginning the whine that told it was getting close to detonation, feeling the vibration ripple like a second sense. He clutched it tighter, not daring to remove his eyes from his target. Cyclops came around the divider cautiously, hand on his visor and he was out of time. He threw it – and only when the card went white, did he realize exactly what he'd done.

Most people considered red fire to be the hottest. Actually, the scale went from red to orange to yellow to white, each more intense than the next. And the supernova blew out white.

Cyclops hit it, just like Gambit had intended, and the resulting blast shook the entire room. Remy skidded back only to be stopped by a wall. Hard. Cyclops was luckier; he ducked behind the partition in time.

He coughed even as the burnt material of the session vaporized into nonexistence. Blinking rapidly, hoping to clear his eyes of the encompassing white that had blinded despite his eyes closing, he was shocked by the first voice he heard.

"Swamp rat havin' some trouble?"

He was aching, bruised, and had just underestimated his weapon. Her lack of concern was a match to dry kindling.

"None at all, river rat. Sometimes de power revs a bit too high, leaves a bit too much damage. Wouldn't know 'bout dat I suppose."

Her cheeks flushed, but not for any fun reason, and he'd knew he'd been too sharp…

"Least ah'm not losing out to 'visorboy,' Gambit," she returned in kind with deadly aim and it struck home.

"Are you okay Scott?" she turned to the other boy, who just nodded.

And she just walked away from him.

Wolverine, now arrived on the scene, looked at him almost –

He'd waited for the man to stop him, demand why he'd dropped her - the thought burned but he was sure that wouldn't be worse, wouldn't be worse than that one d- almost sympathetic look.

He didn't want to say it, but the fact Wolverine didn't even have to ask –

(Though he had a feeling there was something he was forgetting, something involving the unbelievable hangover he'd woken up with – in his bed though he didn't remember making it there – the day after he walked out of Rogue's room…)

He still wanted to thrash him.

But it was Cyclops that spoke up. "You're being reckless Gambit. You need to have more self-control."

The perfect little golden boy, model brother, he couldn't stand him, especially not now. Not after – **"I joined the X-Men because…He was nice ta meh an' actually saw meh as ah person."**

"Well, we can't all be perfect like de Fearless Leader, _non_?" he snapped. His fingers itched with a charge, but the session was over. He settled for a cigarette.

"You're not supposed to smoke in here."

"Oh?"

He flicked the cigarette, managing to give the finger at the same time. He could practically see Cyclops' finger twitch towards his visor.

"He's still wired," Wolverine pointed out unexpectedly.

Remy scowled at him, then quickly smoothed into a smirk. "Well, it ain't like Scooter is that much of a challenge."

But Cyclops was now looking at him with concern.

"Power and energy fluctuations," he murmured, as if to himself. "Maybe you should visit Dr. McCoy to-"

It was too much. He hadn't been to Hank since his last victorious check-up, unable to stand the silent unasked questions, the probing, the theories, the thought it was the last –

"No!" He stubbed the cigarette on the floor, refusing to acknowledge the volume of his voice. "I'm perfectly, f-ing fine!"

He strode out of the room, leaving behind a perplexed team leader and intent Wolverine.

* * *

But ever so slowly, he could not deny her effects.

His powers, his very energy, seemed to have become super-charged and his attention began to fragment from the pressure of holding them in check. Concentration became harder, frustration, confusion, anger swelling into a molten ball within him – and the tension was becoming unbearable. The riot she'd created in his body began to spill over, despite his own wishes. He became intolerant of the slightest irritant, pushing the New Mutants harder in the exercises he had charge of; his humor grew edgier and neither cards nor cigarettes could truly calm him.

Rogue herself was unaffected by his normal banter; it simply rolled off her impermeable armor of her made-up face. Before, her dismissiveness had been amusing, almost intriguing.

Now it was maddening.

His hands itched insanely, as if he was thirteen again, especially every time he spotted a certain streak, the curves, the shadow of her body. It wouldn't have been so bad if he didn't have to see her every f-ing day.

But what really grated, was the layers he could see, sense, feel. The layers she'd _let _him remove stood now full, impregnable. He'd stripped her down to the bone and now he couldn't even get within a foot of her.

His retorts got sharper, his remarks lewder. And even if the flush was anger; he could at least pretend for a moment it was more.

She wasn't unaffected.

He didn't let himself ponder why that was so important.

Despite his better instincts, he finally started to avoid her, but no sooner did he succeed then he sought her out when the itch was too strong – and he wasn't sure who he was punishing.

The snippets of time he'd stolen with her, wrapped in each other, was he the only one they haunted – would not leave alone?

But how could she pretend so well, be so d- unaffected?

How could she: **"I'm just using-"** _**You. **_The ghost of the word she hadn't wanted to say. How was that different from before? Why was that enough to make her pull out? And why the hell did it want him want to spit nails?

It stung like papercuts on his eyelids every time he looked at her. Untouchable her.

And the need to get under her skin just grew.

"**It's betta this way."**

The hell it was.

* * *

Let's rearrange

I wish you were a stranger I could disengage

Just say that we agree and then never change

Soften a bit until we all just get along

But that's disregard

Find another friend and you discard

As you lose the argument in a cable car

Hanging above as the canyon comes between

_**

* * *

**_

It only got better.

_**Remy had loved spices since they'd rendered his taste buds inoperable way back when. They exploded in his mouth, firing up his mouth like the energy that would soon race through his very skin, scintillating, twisting around his senses until he felt like he could taste the whole world in that simple dish.**_

_**Rogue's secrets were like that – at once sweet, then laced with such heat it made his very throat ache. He'd once thought her decadent like the foreign chocolate so rich it's bitter to the mouth, but her like this – it was far more full-bodied than he'd imagined.**_

_**She was even more intoxicating, with her delicious little secrets, even if the ease of her admissions unnerved him. He guarded himself, taking all she gave knowingly or not and then tactfully giving, but sometimes, sometimes he wondered how well…**_

* * *

"**I be t'inkin' of growin' back de goatee." It was an off-hand admission and he was hardly expecting her outburst.**

"**Yah not serious!"**

"_**Quoi**_

**Her mouth set stubbornly. "I don't like it." He blinked.**

"_**Pourquoi?**_**" She shrugged.**

"**It's too, ah dunno, tamed, regulated, ah dunno. It just ain't you – just like that bowl cut." She wrinkled her face, then with a mischievous look, reached up and messed with his hair. He might've protested if the move hadn't put him practically at eye level with her breasts. "Dis is much betta."**

**He stared at her. "Didn't know you cared **_**chere."**_

**She shrugged, not looking full at him. "Jus' thought about it."**

**And he is inordinately pleased. She's thought about it. **

**It was the first time she admitted any attraction, beside his eyes.**

**

* * *

**

Remy had always considered himself a breast man. They were always right there out in front, just demanding attention, and he felt it downright discourteous to not lavish them with such attention.

**But with Rogue, it wasn't her breasts he found himself becoming sticky fingered over. Not that they didn't have their merits; despite what others might say about bigger better, he rather liked how he could wrap his entire hands around hers and not be overwhelmed.**

**It was her hips.**

"**I t'ink you've made me inta a hips man."**

**He mumbled it into her neck, wrapping his hands around the swell of her hips, feathering over the hollows.**

**She made an indistinct noise as he stroked the inner expanse of bone covered by flesh. "Made you inta?" she got out, sounding amused.**

**He nodded, rubbing his nose against her.**

"**What, my breasts no' good 'nough?"**

**He blinked, finally raising his head. "Remy neva said that!" One of his hands trailed up to circle her right breast as if in defiance of the very idea.**

**She flashed an amused grin. "Well, can guess what yah usually." He snorted, not sure if he was pleased she'd guessed right.**

"**Coulda been an ass man," he grumbled good naturedly, his other hand slipping behind her.**

**She rolled her eyes. "Well, yah do seem ta be an all-round perv most of the time." The kiss she placed on his chest took any potential sting out of the words.**

**He pouted, but returned his hands to her hips.**

"'**m serious though; y' got **_**abondant**_** hips." **_**(lush)**_

"**Oh gee, what every girl wants to hear."**

**He kissed her then, her sarcasm and lidded eyes simply too appetizing.**

**But really, he wasn't sure what it was about her hips that persistently engaged his attention. It could be a mirror of her own habits – a hand on her cocked hip was one of her favorite positions. It could be how provocative he'd always found that little strip of skin she'd allowed exposed to the world, just begging to be touched. It could be simply how often he'd had to grip them just to keep himself from moving too fast for her. It could've even – but no, he had no need of such a possessive gesture, the hand, arm around the waist.**

**He just liked her hips.**

_**

* * *

**_

The days and nights melted together: the day anticipation, the night gratification. Tantalizing appetizers that ended up with her beneath him, watching her face, her voice, her body become drunk on touch, on

**him**_**. Power. Pleasure. The line had blurred for him far too long ago. **_

_**But this was new. Knowing her arching at his touch was for the first time, unconquered territory – virgin, the first to learn the secrets of her body. And it was all genuine as he felt the echo with his empathy, opening himself to her novel ecstasy. He slowly began to realize the real fun that lay in the process, not just the pay-off, but then again, it wasn't as if he'd ever delayed sex in a rel- with a woman he'd wanted for so long.**_

_**He felt too full.**_

_**It was dizzying, exhilarating, **_**addicting**

_**Bending her, molding her into the image of desire – and yet, he wasn't creating her or really shaping her. It occurred to him that this was merely revealing the Rogue without fear. They began to waver between having to be pushed and pulling in return; he wasn't sure anymore who was in control but she was too there, every night, he couldn't think about it.**_

_**And yet…**_

* * *

"**Right, **_**mon petite amie?**_

"**Ah ain't yah **_**petit **_**anything."**

**He stiffened unnoticeably as she ducked from under his arm, skirting Jubilee and a prickly Evan. He stared at the wall and murmured under his breath, "I know."**

**It was stupid; he didn't even know why he'd even said it.**

**- cultural slang note: **_**petite amie**_** in France means girlfriend. -**

* * *

**"Is this like having a lover?"**

**She sounded puzzled and his brain momentarily froze.**

"_**Quoi?"**_

**She shrugged.**

"**It just seems weird, y'know. Ah mean, fa me and then for you."**

**She wavered.**

"**It's just weird thinkin' I'd have a lover."**

**He couldn't respond, but to press her even closer to him and seal her questions away with a bruising kiss.**

**The truth was too much for words.**

_**

* * *

**_

It was a novelty dressing her, the fulfillment of an illusion - that this was his place. To not only to take apart, but put back together. To not only pull her down to the bed, but pick her up from it. To not only greet at the door, but to tuck in at night.

_**But as he slipped out the window, he knew it for what it was. Nothing but an illusion.**_

_**And one could only bet on one's own illusion.**_

_**Yet the illusion only deepened.**_

**

* * *

**

She'd so cheated, but he wouldn't call her on it. Seeing his grace in her moves had been heady for far too many reasons, the thought of him inside her, so strongly, too-

**The flare faded and he was dazzled by the green of her eyes and that grin - she was so, happy.**

**But her hand neared and he focused on how much fun they could have in this position – he was busy on his second fantasy when she touched him. But there's no tug, no pull, no drawing out and even though he's used to that, there's still the fact she was expecting to absorb him and the dawning shock on her face is enough to throw him completely off-balance.**

**She didn't absorb him.**

**Even though she'd meant to.**

**And he is completely thrown by the moment of victory.**

_**

* * *

**_

That shocking moment was enough to buoy him through his immediate impromptu check-up, murmuring over a heightened energy shield yet certainty the event was due to Rogue's control, complete with glowering Wolverine – obviously testy over the fact Rogue's impromptu control had come with her interaction with Remy, rather than himself or another.

_**But the bubble was burst with inevitable abruptness. News always spread fast in the Mansion and word of Rogue's assault and unintended absorption was on everyone's lips. He hung back, his emotions too volatile to voice.**_

_**He'd never wanted to destroy someone so badly, someone who made a woman he knew as strong as steel curl up into a ball and try to block out the rest of the world.**_

_**But the comparison to her state only a handful of days earlier was unavoidable – and he was reminded of his purpose. He had to help her gain control. **_

* * *

"**Ain't y' fault Rogue."**

"**Mah mutation."**

"_**Chere **_**it was self-defense! Y' can't- Dat ain't de point anyway."**

_**

* * *

**_

For her sake, at least.

_**But he couldn't just sit there as she suffered. He didn't totally understand her mutation, despite how he tried, and revealing secrets to her now, Sabertooth, Xavier, was simply, not possible. He couldn't help his curiosity, the lingering of the ever nagging fear – **_**how much longer before she realizes just who you are Gambit?**

* * *

"**He might wonda 'bout the big Remy psyche in mah mind."**

"**It dat big?"**

"**It's big enough. It ain't that bad though; it jus' kinda hangs out in the back of mah mind. Like Logan, Kitty and Kurt; they all just kinda stay in the background, 'less they really got something ta say."**

"**Mine don' mouth off, do it?"**

"**Less than yah do."**

* * *

– _**but that wasn't why he'd come. He'd known she wouldn't practice. And he couldn't just sit there as she suffered. Not if he could help it.**_

* * *

"**Maybe **_**je t'aide?"**_

**Even as he spoke, he let his empathy unfurl, gently brushing by her barriers, crooning a surrender. It was odd to ask though. He'd never charmed someone with their knowledge, let alone permission; he wondered if that would make it easier or harder.**

"**I could get de psyches t' leave yah 'lone."**

"**Ah need ta do this on mah own, not depend–"**

**Resistance – he usually saw it as fun or a challenge, but this was hardly so.**

"_**Chere**_**, y' not read de X-Men handbook or somet'ing? Can't do everyt'ing on yah own **_**amoureux**_

**The nickname he'd never used before with a **_**femme **_**seemed to slip out around her, with all the casual ease of belonging.**

"**Everybody need help **_**parfois." (sometimes**_**) "No' dependence **_**chérie**_

**Of course not; the very thought was ludicrous. As if anyone could depend on Gambit – only someone wanting a theft dared do so.**

"**Yah need eye contact ta do this?"**

**She asked the question with completely guilelessness. She just wanted to know –**

"**Nah really, but it helps. Somet'ing 'bout de red an' black."**

"**They flare."**

**He tensed at the tell he'd never been aware of, underlain by the explanation – one no one had ever gotten close enough to tell.**

**"It's nice."**

**- and her innocent appraisal reached right into him and tugged. He breathed, then just shook his head.**

"**Y' one of a kind, Rogue. Now jus' – reahlax."**

**His empathy slipped through her barriers like it was simply the surface of a lake and he was enfolded in her. Almost immediately he could feel them – the formerly indistinct throb of rage and frustration emanating from her became swirls, knots of tumultuous emotions. He could feel her fatigue, her sadness (like the weeping willow bending to gravity), her pain all around, separate from the quick, sharp bursts of fury. He focused on them, throwing all the charm he had to lull, pacify, soothe them.**

"**Dose boys are gonna get ti'ed out and mind dere own business."**

**And then, there was an echo, a rippling of calm that spread even further out. He felt a knot he hadn't discerned, shimmer as a center of tranquility that intensified that which he was inducing – synchronizing.**

**Was it – could it be – was that his own psyche?**

**But he couldn't ask.**

"**Shhh…"**

**Bare shadows in the periphery, he felt layers form, distilling the raging furies into the barest of whispers. More psyches? But he didn't touch them, coming to appreciate the complexity of Rogue's mutation – and coping in a whole new way. Instead, he contracted within her, ruling his own emotions to solidify the peace of her mind – in sync with his own.**

**For dizzying moments, he couldn't tell where he ended and she began.**

**And finally, he broke away.**

"**Y' good **_**chérie?"**_

"**Yeah."**

**He was loathe to leave, still hooked on, in her. Once upon a time, he'd been unfamiliar with the feeling. Once upon a time.**

"**Thanks Remy."**

**The appeal to return to the bed was seductive, even as his fingers left the alarm clock.**

"**Don' mention it."**

**He still left.**

_**

* * *

**_

He was getting in too deep –

_**And then she kissed him.**_

_**He'd been cursing his inability to immediately feel her out – but then she kissed him, for all the world to see – and just when he thought he could only want her so much, a whole new world opened up.**_

_**Sense told him to maintain his distance, but – she just kept drawing him in. He couldn't stop.**_

_**If only reality was so cooperative…**_

**

* * *

**

The man's fist would've clothes-lined him if he hadn't anticipated it. He flashed a grin he just knew irritated the other X-Man out of his skin, lounging against the wall.

"**Wolvie, what can Gambit do for you?"**

**Wolverine scowled, eyes lighting on the remnants of Rogue's lipstick that lingered at the corner of his mouth.**

"**Gettin' sloppy Gumbo."**

**He smirked, bringing up a finger to brush at the incriminating mark. "In Remy's world, dis is considered gettin' lucky."**

**Wolverine's claws half-way extended before he could control it, forcing Remy against the wall. The smirk didn't flicker.**

"**She ain't one of your cards Cajun." It flickered infinitesimally; the feral man managed a grim smile. "She ain't yours at all. Remember that bub."**

**And when Wolverine turned on his heel, it went out.**

_**

* * *

**_

He had to touch her, had to reassure himself: none of that mattered. She was his as much as either of them wanted and – it didn't matter anyway. But still, he proposed the club; still he didn't deny the desire to mark her as surely as she'd marked him.

**

* * *

**

When he arrived at her room, she wasn't ready.

"**Jus' give me a minute," she mumbled into the mirror, rummaging through the items on her bureau. He nodded needlessly, settling on her bed from habit and eying her. He smirked when he realized she'd coordinated to his colors. She looked more beautiful than ever and he mused at how odd it was she could become more attractive to him.**

"**Take y' time," he said, watching her put on her makeup. It was interesting to observe, the dabbing on of the face a **_**femme **_**presented the world - but it was disconcerting to watch the face he'd grown accustomed to disappear under blush, eye shadow, and lipstick. "Just go easy on de makeup."**

**She gave an annoyed glance back, with a hint of defiance, lipstick poised. "Why?"**

"'**s gonna end up on Remy, **_**non?"**_

**Her flush under the already applied pale blush wasn't half as nice as it bare.**

**She finished with a snap, lips only marginally less plum, and they made their way to the balcony. She insisted on going down first, despite his protest. Sneaking her out made him feel like a teenager, luring the fair neighbor out to dance the humid streets of New Orleans. Lurking below though was the realization this was the first time he'd been able to take her along, the Rogue he knew, when he'd climbed out her window.**

**

* * *

**

Riding on the bike, nodding to the bouncer arm around her waist, pulling her away to make out with her for the sheer fun of it – unable to maintain his distance in the face of her, her – just her, flirting in front of the bartender, the illusion returned, clouding his senses until…

"**Your girl's a regular spitfire, isn't she?"**

**And suddenly he was back facing the man who knew too much.**

"_**She ain't yours at all."**_

**The words came out a bitter echo.**

"**She's not my girl."**

**His tone was too sharp, answer too quick, and he could see the bartender raise an eyebrow. He turned to the bar, focusing on the many colorful liquor bottles behind.**

"**Straight-up bourbon." A bit stiff, but it was a reflexive order, alcohol to get rid of that f-ing voice in the back of his skull.**

**What the hell did he know?**

**Relationships were a hassle, too much work, too much aggravation, for too little pay-off. He'd unofficially sworn them off since – **_**her baby blue eyes reflected new hatred, new disgust**_** – and he'd been perfectly fine. He didn't want a relationship, fun was just fine.**

**And Rogue seemed to have the same attitude – **_**"If ah'm eva gonna have a boyfriend**_**…" – at least for now, and as long as that matched with his attitude, everything would be just fine.**

**He glanced back at her. Besides, it wasn't like he was to her taste in that way anyway – and she was hardly to his.**

**His hands itched; the bartender had to call his name twice before he turned back to collect their drinks.**

**

* * *

**

She knew how to play pool and he shouldn't have been disappointed, but d- teaching her had all sorts of fun possibilities. He shook the fantasy...out of his mind.

**But he could tell something was off, even as they flirted, even as they drove home, even as they fell onto her bed intertwined. Her walls fended off his attempts to learn, understand the dissonance he sensed by intuition. Unable to read her, he knew how to fix that, **_**finger edging the emerald panties he'd peaked on the way back up**_** - and then she was there with him, **_**"Remy."**_** That breathy gasp was enough to make him hard as hell.**

**And yet…**

"**Y' sure yah ready **_**chere?"**_

"'**m sure it's easia ta keep focus when ah ain't the one goin' over the edge. Trust meh."**

**He stared as those two little words came out of her mouth. **

**And he did.**

**He refused to examine it more.**

**And finally, finally her calculation gave way, until at last there was something genuine and she smiled down at him. It hadn't been practiced (too timid, then too much varying pressure) or polished (too jerky) or the best he'd ever had, but she'd done it – and that seemed to make it mean more. Once it was over, her eyes seemed different and she kissed him and his humor faded but she just smiled.**

"**Better get cleaned up," and she slipped away from him.**

**And he is left wondering why he is left wondering.**

_**

* * *

**_

They had been accelerating the entire time, speeding forward to the inexorable close. But now it was she pushing the pace. He tried to slow down, enjoy feeling each other out all the way (oral had never really been his thing, but with her…), but now she resisted him anew.

_**With a thief's sense, he could tell something had been lost, but he didn't dare ask. They're getting too close and losing out this close, would be intolerable. She still gave out her secrets, with that ease that could terrify him –**_

"**Mah name-"**

_**He couldn't let her say it. Not that bit of knowledge that she guarded so closely. He is a thief, but even he knows there are some things he should not take. Especially when so 'freely' offered.**_

"**It not be important, **_**hein?**_

_**He could not wager on that illusion.**_

– _**and she still let him drape his fingers, his mouth, himself all over her, even returning the favor. What more could he truly ask for?**_

_**He would hold the bluff that much longer.**_

_**

* * *

**_

That night, he planned to return to the club. Perhaps he even thought, in some far recess of his mind, that somehow he could recapture whatever had slipped away that other night.

"_**Chere**_**, thought we could go back to de club. An' unless y' comfortable-"**

"**I'm ready."**

_**She wouldn't meet his eyes and he'd felt a tendril of unease.**_

"**Re'lly? Now I know **_**femme**_** fashion is strange, but-"**

"**No, Remy. Ah'm ready."**

"**Oh."**

_**His mind had raced and he'd shocked by the fact he'd stopped anticipating this night.**_

"_**D'accord."**_

_**He'd been about to suggest he'd come back, sneak into her room like usual when she'd taken his hand. It was the first time they're holding hands and all he can think inanely is he's never come into her room from the front door, instead of slipping in like – like a thief.**_

_**He had stop fantasizing about the sex. It had been all that'd been on his mind the first few practices, but slowly, slowly it had drained away, to be replaced with her nervousness, his plans to coax her, ways to get comfortable and pleasure at the same time. The idea he'd forgotten about the culmination of the practice was laughable, but he'd become focused on what they were doing, focusing on each individual night as if it was all there was.**_

_**Yet somehow, there they were, unwrapping each other in sharp contrast to the usual haphazard stripping off of a simple dance of desire. The feeling of exposure rattled against his nerves, but he merely focused on her, gripping her hips to anchor him to earth and, and –**_

_**She was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. And he wondered at the fact he is just now noticing.**_

_**And then she kissed him. They came together without barriers and he can the blood in his veins accelerating as he covers her with himself. His empathy, unasked, reaches for her as well, to embrace and cradle her emotions as closely as he is to her body. And that is why he feels the prickle of her mutation reach in return, only to be turned aside.**_

"**Rogue?" **

_**He rested his forehead against hers, wondering if he can ask, wondering if she'll give that as her secret.**_

_**But as always, she amazes him.**_

"**Ah've never thought of doing this with anyone else."**

_**And he can not hold himself back. He drew her closer, both of them unto the bed, trying to be everything, touch, coat every single cell of her that he can possibly reach. And he allowed the secret of his own fascination pass through his lips.**_

"**When I first saw yah, thought it was a tragedy de **_**fille**_** couldn't touch. Co'n't be touched." In so many different ways. "An' I told myself, if dere was anything ah could eva do, **_**aide-toi **_**I'd do it."**

"**Ah'm reahdy."**

_**And then, and then he kept his promise.**_

_**He wanted it to be perfect for her, but reality made so impossible – and she resisted his attempts, straining to move rather than adjust, but he still strokes down to make sure he's not alone when the moment comes and he's staring into her gorgeous green eyes and he never wants to look away, but she kisses him and he can't keep looking as the heavens part…**_

_**He hadn't been ready.**_

_**He thinks he should've been over-ready, but – he wasn't ready, not ready for it to be over. But it wasn't was it? He had so much more to teach, to do with her…no it won't be over, not by a long shot. So he stays that night – he can't leave, can't be that cruel for the morning after. Not to her. He gets dressed, knowing he'll still have to make a quick escape, preferably before dawn for discretion's sake. But this, it won't be over.**_

_**It can't be – and he thinks she knows that.**_

_**And so, he awaits the dawn.**_

* * *

But then the final call – 'time's up' – slapped him in the face.

* * *

Remy lounged outside the doorway of Kitty's temporary room. He'd volunteered to help her move, but he'd only lasted so long with Rogue in the room. He'd begged off for a cigarette break. Masochist or not, there was only so much of her venom he could take. But he lingered by the door –

"Did you two have a fight or something?"

"No. Why would you think that?"

He closed his eyes, imagining the slender X-girl shrug. "Well, you two seemed to be, like, getting along. And now-"

Rogue's harsh voice cut her off. "He's just an ass – and ah'm a bitch. Ain't nothing changed." Her tone was flatly resigned.

He couldn't stay.

And he didn't see Kitty bite her lip as Rogue tiredly swung one of her bags over her shoulder, a withdrawn look on her face.

* * *

She is just a _femme_, like innumerable others in his life.

Just a _femme_.

And he, he's Gambit.

**That hitch of her voice, "Remy."**

His fist slammed into the mirror.

And he stared at the cracks that formed.

He was.

* * *

And suddenly I become a part of your past

I'm becoming the part that don't last

I'm losing you and it's effortless

Without a sound we lose sight of the ground

In the throw around

Never thought that you wanted to bring it down

I won't let it go down till we torch it ourselves

_

* * *

_

Except he hadn't really thought either her or his 'freedom' had been on the bargaining table – and he's beginning to realize the game he'd thought he was playing wasn't a game at all.

* * *

Everyone knows I'm in

Over my head

Over my head

With eight seconds left in overtime

She's on your mind

She's on your mind


	12. And the Ace is wild

Wow, people seem torn about Wolverine. But I shed some light in this chapter.

Some basic insight:

_Petite amie_ is only cultural slang (and really continental French, not a Cajun term – it really was a slip from Remy's subconscious). Even knowing some French from school probably wouldn't help you there. As to 'lovers', Rogue was basically asking him to label them that way – and he refused to. She was commenting how it would be weird for them to have lovers, with all the connotations. He couldn't face the ramifications.

French curses: he called her a bitch – and she responded with basically the Cajun equivalent of asshole. As to how she doesn't consider Remy's feelings, she's convinced herself that he doesn't care or at least not enough. Hope is too painful for her, so she ignores any possibility he might be more emotionally involved than she first realized.

To my lovely reviewers!!

Vinh – "Rogue is coming across as so damn calculating and cold as if during all the time she was using Remy she didn't develop any type of affection for him." Remember! This is all from Remy's point of view!

Mazdamiatta – The summary was: reckless enough, sensitive enough, casual enough. **Bobby's mad at Remy - he's not exactly oblivious to the two's sparks.** Rogue misjudged Remy - she really thought it was all casual for him. Remember, she thought her touch was meaningless to him? Also she's never seen in him in an actual relationship. (Though, sure, she had some ulterior reasons: the only way she thought she could have him...) Remy is just as surprised though - he's trying to convince himself it really wasn't a big deal. But his feelings when starting weren't neutral and getting closer to her, physically as well as emotionally, opened him up to something he really has never experienced before, or very few times - a real relationship with all the messy feelings involved. Remy's feeling the rejection - oh yeah. But he also is struggling with the fact he wanted to continue their unlabeled relationship, despite the exact specifications of their deal. And all the privileges to touch associated with their deal are now gone. /Rogue's not a player, sorry - she knows she's in love, she's not about to jump on another guy. At least not yet. And Jameson is the principal, see ch. 8.

Thanks y'all!! Mercuriancat, musariven (lol), Wiccamage (-sheepish grin-), BladeMaxwell-GoddessofDeath, L, nuriiko, gambits girl, Bloody Vyvyan, Valerie J (:)))))))! (I'm so glad you reviewed!), knoxvilleloversc, Ms.Sandiego (yay! And question will be answered), Conquistador Imp, xoxocandyliciousxoxo, thriller ("stunningly written" –beam!- and I'm glad you felt that way about the flashbacks. I worried they might be too much.), Johanna (oops…got a bit rusty over the summer), Cleio (thank you so much for your commentary on the flashbacks! And the song! **"I think Rogue is not only upset with Remy for making her love him, but she definitely seems to be taking her own feelings out on herself."** (Yes!! Yes!!) And Remy teaching - :)!), X-Storm ("So can Remy though" – good!), Wanda W (yay!), cream tea anyone (yup, yup! "he has been keeping his cards close to his chest, his feeling have been just as intense as rogue's but much better hidden." You were the only one to remark on the empathy kindof. The end as a power trip – huh.), flaming-mod (oh I loved that end! "It was a chapter where you described eloquently the progress from rejected to heartbroken."), Lovestoread, dreamschemer , Catra, thegambit23, Encuentrame, Ryan628 (more straightness yes!), ishandahalf ( :)), Wiccamage (lol! – I know what you mean about bosses…), Angel-In-Black, animefan135, ElizabethMarieBennett, Lucky, marajade963 (oh yeah he's addicted – but ouch, hadn't really thought of it that way!), Coldqueen (lol!), Mercy P. Jones (-blush- I'm one of those people too!)

Greatest review goes to: Doesn't Matter! "Wow. Remy has some issues. In fact, they're both pretty up f-up...I love it."

Second goes to: Captain Annie - "It really paints Rogue as a hard-core . Which is fine because goodness knows she is at times."

Best quote: Sassy 18! "Those two are their own soap opera!"

Now, I include some lyrics from: _Storybook_ from Scarlet Pimpernel. Don't worry - just a few lines this time. Much more angst on the way! Also, remember! This is a half-half arrangement. I'm trying to keep the half Rogue, half Gambit sections separate, but, well, I had to give Rogue some chance to defend herself… So cheaters, keep reading at the end.

* * *

It Takes Two...to Practice

* * *

12) And the Ace is Wild –

* * *

Missions, for all the hype involved, were not always 'hop on the jet, you'll be briefed on the way.' (Well, to be honest, they hardly ever were since usually missions were either in response to an already known emergency or were low key.) Still, Remy enjoyed that type the most. Sitting through a briefing was much more endurable with an undercurrent of adrenaline versus, well, sitting around a big wooden table while the Professor made a speech of surprisingly little clarity to the whole X-Men crowd.

Someone would be looking for someone – that was as much as Remy had gathered so far. It was only the hope he'd be able to get out of the mansion that had Remy even paying as much attention as he was. Hell, he'd even go to Tibet again…

"This mission happens to be of a sensitive nature, thus it needs to be treated delicately." Xavier eyed Wolverine with just a hint of hesitation. "I would ask that Storm and Gambit accompany you."

Wolverine's eyes flicked over to Storm's serene form fleetingly, but he snorted in Gambit's direction. "You mean I have to bring along Twitchy?"

Remy, caught mid-shuffle, looked up in indignation. "Twitchy?!" Wolverine looked down pointedly at the cards he'd been rearranging – and hadn't stopped since entering the room. In a smooth motion, they disappeared up one of his coat sleeves. Keeping his fingers still was not so easy a maneuver. Within a moment, he was tapping out a rhythm on the conference table.

He couldn't help that he was twitchy. Excess energy - that was his d- mutation. He tightened his hands. And the fact Rogue, Rogue wasn't _siphoning_ off any - probably screwing with his bio-rhythms or something.

He wished he hadn't used the word screwing.

His eyes flicked to her. He wouldn't know though - he still hadn't been back to McCoy, couldn't stand admitting-

"Jus' ain't use to so little action," he excused himself smoothly. "Bein' in one place f' too long makes m'edgy."

"So sad we made you feel too settled." Rogue sniped from across the table with a nasty frown.

He gave an edged grin, splaying his hands out. "Wasn't complainin' 'bout your hospitality, now was I?"

He reveled in the anger in her flashing eyes, because then she was feeling something d-it!

"You-"

The Professor interrupted them. "Please, this is hardly the place for bickering."

Rogue subsided with a grudging apology, but she glared at Gambit for the rest of the meeting.

But he had a ticket out, for a while. He let that dictate his smug grin.

* * *

After the meeting, the Professor cornered him. "Remy, I feel it would be best if you had a check-up before–" He didn't react, simply cut the Professor off.

"No need."

"You haven't had one in a while," Xavier noted with the beginnings of a frown.

"No need," he repeated, with even firmness. Calm, cool; he wouldn't give Xavier any additional reason to doubt his words.

"The explosion that knocked you into a wall was completely planned?" the telepath asked skeptically, arching an eyebrow. He regarded Gambit as the man's shoulders hunched for the briefest second. "The safety of my students is very important to me Remy-"

"I cin handle it." It was more insistent than the last statement and those cool, assessing eyes never looked away. Was Xavier finally questioning that ability? He gambled. "If anyt'ing gets outta hand durin' de mission, Henri's will be m' first stop back."

Xavier backed down reluctantly, but didn't leave without the final word. "I do trust you Remy." His face was inscrutable.

Remy refused to acknowledge the unwelcome bitter thought, _Why?_

* * *

It was a small group of students that came out to wish the mission good luck in the pre-dawn chill. Piotr gave him a reserved smile and 'return well,' as he always had. Cyclops gave him a nod, his stoic demeanor interrupted by a yawn. His girlfriend was softer, giving him a smile and a goodbye. He winked at her when he told her he didn't need any good luck, he was good with all the ladies – even Luck herself, as much to annoy Scott as – but _she _was saying goodbye to Wolverine and it wasn't like she'd even care anyway.

Kitty actually hugged him. "You be safe okay? Don't do anything stupid!" He blinked at what sounded like a pointed chastisement, but she immediately followed it with a smile. "If anything I'm proof that stupid things can result in broken bones!"

Before he could respond, there was a snort. "If there's one thang he know how to do, it's how ta keep that hide untouched." He couldn't help the reflexive look her way. Rogue's eyes were shadowed as her back faced the rising sun, but her voice was flat, not laced with the scathing he'd become accustomed to. "Ah'm suhre he'll be fahne."

The goodbye plagued him, even after he filed into the jet, settled into his seat, and the Blackbird went underway. His jittery hands thoughtlessly went to his cards.

Why did it feel like she'd meant more?

Wolverine groaned. "If yeh fan those cards one more time, I'm gonna take a chunk outta that hide. I ain't listenin' to that for eight hours!"

Gambit grinned at the distraction. "I'd like ta see y' try."

"Boys!" Storm said sharply before Wolverine's claws could pop out more than an inch. "We are not starting our team," she emphasized the term, "mission by sniping at each other." She glared at them both for a long minute before Wolverine finally retracted his claws and crossed his arms. She turned around with a shake of her head, muttering under her breath, "Honestly, I don't know what's gotten into you two lately!"

After that, he'd shuffled his cards for ten minutes just to hear Wolverine's teeth grind even though he'd closed his eyes to sleep. But Storm's pointed looks back got tiresome and Remy palmed the deck.

He tried to concentrate on a book, but it was a lost cause – he just ended up staring at the pages without remembering what he'd just read.

It was about that time he decided to imitate Wolverine and try to catch some sleep. He hadn't been sleeping well lately anyway. The jet didn't change that, but finally, after a good deal of tossing, adjusting the seat and turning, sleep claimed him.

**

* * *

**

She darted in the door and his breath caught. She was wrapped in a towel, the modest white cloth doing little to hide her dripping curves.

**It wasn't until she took two steps into the room that she realized she wasn't alone. He watched the awareness flush flare across her face and he couldn't resist. He prowled closer as she clutched her towel.**

"**Remy," the act of licking her lips sent a thrill of pleasure through him. Soon enough he'd be licking more than that… "yah early."**

"**Afta tahday's little show, got a li'l impatient." He didn't need empathy to read her nervousness, so he toyed with her hair, drying far curlier than she'd ever allowed. The fact he was seeing her in a state no one else was privileged enough to see tingled, all wet and vulnerable and – naked. "Knew I'd love de curls."**

**The bare touch to hair wasn't enough and he began to skim down her body, his empathy weaving past her defenses. She was scared, but -**

"**Ah can dress in a minute if yah just-"**

**- there was that greedy little insistent tug, anticipation, and it teased his senses. **_**That's m' girl.**_

**He locked eyes, drawing her defenses out. "Know dat y' ain't ready for all de way, but dere be more ta sex den the in an' out."**

**She let him arrange her by the bed and he could barely contain himself. The weight of his patience and self-control was cast aside and his fingers itched with the desire to unveil the secrets so long kept from him. It was as if he was thirteen all over again.**

**But his own excitement was not enough to overwhelm his awareness of her still sharp anxiety. Perhaps he was pushing too hard, but – He nudged her chin and abruptly she re-focused on him. "Trust m'?" She met his eyes and nodded; he suddenly swallowed, realizing what he'd just asked – and she'd answered. When was the last time someone could, did trust him?**

**So precious.**

**He undressed her with a care he didn't even remember having, feeling her pulse beat against his fingertips, the acidic tang of her unease tempered by expectancy.**

**Until, at last, she was naked before him.**

**She was beautiful, muscled torso curving into plush hips and thighs, underlined by the athletic fitness required of an X-Man. Her chest was plump he noted with satisfaction, but her ribs still stood out too sharp, even after the Apocalypse fiasco had been completely cleared up she still wasn't eating enough. He felt himself wish yet again he could've been there. She was still so pale – but not for long if the day's little sun-bathing exercise was a sign of things to come.**

**She was beautiful, every swell and dip begging to be caressed with a lover's touch. By him. He swallowed again.**

**He arranged her on the bed before extracting the gloves he'd specifically picked out for this very occasion. He'd found them in the novelty sex shop that he'd visited with her in mind. The best gloves to use would technically be latex, but that was far too clinical – he didn't want her to feel like a scientific experiment. Perusing the shop, he'd found satin gloves, guaranteed by the maker to only be minimally absorbent, maximizing pleasure. The shop keeper had vouched for them and so he slipped them on. Advertizing better be true.**

"_**Ce soir, c'est tout pour moi**_**." He brushed her body with the care of an artisan. The night was all for him, all for him to taste and touch and stroke and play and find out exactly what drove her mad. In the very best way, of course.**

"**Want y' ta try to start out keepin' yah mutation off, but I want y' t' let go ta waht yah feel." It was wicked really to say it that way. He had every intention of driving her past her control limit as fast as possible.**

"**Bu-"**

"**Need y' ta know waht dis is all 'bout Rogue. Den weh can work on y' gettin' used to it." Oh he fully intended on that. "**_**D'accord**_

"_**Oui**_**." Hearing the word of his mother tongue, layered in her sweet Southern voice, brushed something deep within him.**

**He stared at her for a long second, then leaning, pressed a kiss against her forehead.**

"_**Bien."**_

**And he lost himself in her; the sharp angles of her face, the line of collarbone, the fullness of her breasts, the cleft of her hip, the bend of her inner knee. He pressed and pulled, smoothed and caressed, memorizing every beauty mark and breathy intake of delight.**

**All too soon she was gasping and clutching his shirt. He tisked in her ear, feeling the greedy pull of her mutation hunger after him just as her body did.**

"**Ahaha, don' be greedy," his gloved fingers stroked her hips, the breath of his mouth brushing over her shoulder. He couldn't resist his own greediness though. Wasn't that always the problem? "**_**Dite-moi un secret(Tell me a secret)**_

**She swallowed. "Ah had a dream las' night. It was stupid, bu' it was **_**tu et moi**_**," it took all he had not to freeze. She'd dreamed of him? Really dreamed of him? Not a sex dream or- "weh were walkin' ta school an' then the road turned into a boxca an' we were goin' South ta Mardi Gras."**

"**To **_**la Belle Orléans?"**_

**His home. He tried to imagine her there, dancing for him in some out-of-the-way club, beads jangling around her neck, smoky eyes drawing him in. **

**His hands began to wander impatiently.**

"**Yeah," she said shakily.**

"**An' how was it?"**

"**Good," she swallowed again. "**_**Mais **_**we end'd up in de bayou somehow. That's all ah rememba."**

**He was going too fast for her-**

"**Hmm, not 'xactly de wet I have in mind." And without warning, he slipped within her. **

**- but she'd dreamed of him.**

**Her eyes flew back. "Listen ta meh **_**chérie**_**. Don' tense, jus' rehlax. I got yah." His other hand came to stroke her side reassuringly. Distantly he thought – he always would.**

**His hand delved into her – she was tight and oh **_**Dieu**_** what it was going to be like when it wasn't just his fingers – he had to focus, had to find the spot that'd make her scream. His empathy, buzzing from the intensity of her – innocence and pleasure he could barely keep himself from going over himself. He was going on about something about Mardi Gras, still reeling from the image of her there, there with him - **

**They locked eyes. "Nex' time," he promised and his mouth was on hers and she was taking him in and he was there with her as she plunged. Was it greedy that in that moment he wanted to be so far into her that she'd never, never could-**

**He had to pull his empathy back, had to reel it in because the wash of her orgasm was like a supernova crashing through her for the very first time.**

**She was f-ing amazing.**

**He brought her down slowly and all she could do was pant like she'd run a marathon. His other hand was still stroking her side.**

"**Jus' breathe."**

**Finally, he withdrew his fingers. "Y' doin' okay, **_**chere?"**_

**So beautiful, all rose blush down to the tops of her breasts, flushed cheeks, glassy eyes.**

**But then Rogue changed. She suddenly lounged against the bed on her side, completely composed, a pure marble statue. She looked him in the eye.**

"**Yah know ah'm jus' usin' yah." **

**The words tore him in two. **_**"Chérie-"**_

**She shook her head, clucking her tongue, "It's Rogue, remember?" Her tone was as cold as the gem shine of her eyes. "You're just an ends to this means."**

**A hand extended onto her bare stomach, lean and masculine, and the nude Rogue leaned back against someone he couldn't see.**

"_**Non**_**," he murmured, wanting to rip her away – but he found himself cast against the room, frozen in place.**

**It hadn't ended like that – had it?**

* * *

"No!"

He jerked awake, barely missing the swipe of Wolverine's hand. He stared at the other X-Man, eyes wide and still disoriented.

"You make more noise in your sleep than out," Wolverine grumbled, seeming a little disappointed he'd missed the opportunity to smack Gambit. Remy just kept staring.

Putting his head in his hands, it took a few minutes for him to compose himself, shaking off the last dredges of jealously and feelings he didn't want to identify. When he finally looked up, Wolverine had turned aside, eyes closed in cat-nap style.

Remy tried to muster some annoyance. He couldn't have tried to wake him up just a little earlier?

"Are you alright?" The soft question came from the front and he swiveled to look at the white-haired woman flying.

"Fine," it came out weak and he winced internally. That answer became less convincing with every repetition. She glanced back at him, concern lighting her dark eyes – and there something in the look, something that'd been niggling him for ages ever since he'd met her and she'd greeted him with such a welcoming smile… He glanced back at their other passenger before leaning forward.

"Stormy, we ever met 'fore?" He gave a strained, but lazy grin. "I'd ask if we'd ever slept together, but I'd remember dat wild ride." His charming fell flat, as it seemed now in a habit to, but even though she rolled her eyes, it still seemed warmly amused.

"I was wondering if you would ever ask," her eyes met his briefly, "but I can't fault you for not recognizing. I wasn't exactly the cleanest when we met," the shadow of her lips twitched into a faint smile. "Do you remember Cairo? It must've been over ten years ago…"

**

* * *

**

Remy'd only been with the LeBeaus a month when the call came. A major global Guild meeting was to take place in Cairo and all heads of country or important regions were expected to report. Jean Luc was technically the head of the New Orleans guild, but as the most profitable city in the Southeastern U.S., it was also the center of the American Guild in the South. He made plans to leave.

**Remy was assured by both Jean Luc and Tante that his place was assured in the LeBeau manor. Jean Luc's absence would only be for two weeks and was no cause for alarm.**

**But Remy had been raised on the streets. He was no fool – and Jean Luc was the only reason for his recent change in status. But he'd just nodded.**

**It wasn't until the landing in Cairo that a rather grimy tired Remy was extracted from the storage bay, defiantly cursing the man hauling him. He'd immediately become contrite the moment he saw Jean Luc, getting the sinking feeling he'd just screwed up his luck. But Jean Luc, after using a few words that Remy actually hadn't heard before, just sighed.**

"**Can' do nothing now. Y' here wit' me, but I can't be cartin' yah 'round. Y' make suhre yah 'round for (dinner) an' sleep at mah place. Trust yah stay outta trouble meantime?" He fixed a shrewd eye on the ten-year-old boy in front of him. "Dis be Egypt **_**mon fils**_**, no' **_**Belle Orleans**_** dat y' know like de back o' your hand."**

**Remy nodded so hard it felt like he was going to jar his head off his neck, ecstatic for more than one reason.**

**He'd had free roam of Cairo for those two weeks, scuttling through all the dark, foreign corners, always careful to keep one of his landmarks nearby. He'd learned them first, so he'd know how to get back to Jean Luc's every day. It would take too much time to memorize the city, but he still made a decent attempt.**

**Oddly enough, despite what Jean Luc had warned about the dry heat of the city, it was actually a rather wet few weeks.**

**Getting caught in a rain shower only a few days into his visit, he'd sought shelter in a deserted building. Or at least he thought it was deserted.**

**He'd heard a rustle in one of those corners and his juvenile mind had conjured all sorts of monsters.**

"**He-hello?" he asked, his voice thin in the large building. There was no response; the rustling was gone. "Anyone dere?"**

**A sudden sneeze resounded. Then silence again. But the unimposing sound made Remy feel much more secure and with the recklessness of a ten-year-old boy, he agilely climbed up a massive crate to survey the area. There was a crouched figure in the right corner. Remy had spent enough time on the streets to recognize the blob of rags and dirt: street person. His better judgment told him to leave the person alone – but then the head came up and she looked at him: tear-streaked face, red-rimmed eyes contrasting starkly with her dark face.**

**Many of Remy's habits engrained early – one of which was the inability to stand a damsel in distress.**

**He climbed down slowly, making sure to make enough noise that the girl knew he was there. "'S okay," he said soothingly, wondering if she could see his eyes. They usually had the opposite effect.**

**She watched him silently, hiccupping lightly, but not acting frightened after seeing he was just a kid.**

**He smiled at her, coming to sit a safe number of feet away from her. "No' really de mos' charmin' place ta sit out de rain, **_**mais**_** least it's dry, **_**hein**_

**She didn't answer, just rubbed her eyes, and he rubbed his arms for warmth, discreetly sizing her up. She was older than he'd first thought, probably teenaged. If she stood, she'd probably tower over him. Her clothing was dirty, but not as faded as he would've expected, even though her hair was completely mud-soaked. Still, it seemed to have a bright tint underlying the thick brown – he'd thought it meant she was blond. After a few days in dark-skinned, dark-eyed Cairo, he knew what that meant – and he intimately knew what it felt like to stick out.**

"**M' name's Remy. What's y'rs?" She stared at him and he gave a snort. "If yah don't tell meh, 'm just gonna have t' nickname yah." He eyed her obviously. "Muddy 'd fit."**

**It was only when her eyebrows began to crease that he realized another reason she wasn't responding other than natural reticence. "An' yah prob'ly got no idea what Remy be sayin', **_**non?"**_

**She watched him blankly, before masking another sniffle, and he sighed. "Muddy it is."**

**Remy had started to get used to the lively company of the LeBeau household and his naturally social personality was beginning to miss them. So, with his back against the rough wall, he fiddled with the edge of his shirt and started to talk about his exploring, how he'd sneaked onto the plane to come, the cushy mansion he slept nights, and even the weather. He even pulled out some cards and did a few tricks Henri had been showing him before he left, earning a giggle when he did one wrong and got confused. Her sniffles became fewer ****and fewer between as he luxuriated in having a captive, if uncomprehending, audience until he knew he was going to be late for dinner.**

**It had stopped raining by the time he left.**

**The same longing for company found him tracing his way back to that same warehouse under an overcast sky the next day, though he was actually surprised to find her there again. This time however, she was waiting outside and they took to the streets. It was she who had showed him the real ins and outs of Cairo, even as he showed off his thieving skills. Except after he proudly turned to show her his third picked wallet, she had been waiting with two of her own, a rather smug smile twisting her lips. He'd pouted and that had led to a whole day of competition. She knew the streets and people better – he stood out due to his skin, but he was far more nimble. She laughed for the first time at the end of that day and Remy realized that the day had finally turned sunny.**

**They'd gone on for just over a week in like manner, but the day he'd turned up to say goodbye, she was gone. He'd whispered goodbye to an abandoned building and let 'Muddy' fade into his memory.**

* * *

"I should've known," Remy murmured, eyes distant. "It always rained when you cried. An' I mean it's Cairo." It was only then that he made the connection to the bio on her, given to him by Magneto, detailing her childhood.

Ororo smiled.

"You were a friend when I was in need. I have never forgotten."

"I'm glad," he muttered, feeling vaguely embarrassed. If he hadn't felt so off-kilter, he would've asked why'd she'd been alone and upset. Her peaceful face offered no clue.

"If you ever need a shoulder..." Her sympathetic eyes lingered on him and he felt a prickling at the back of his neck. Just how loud had he been in his sleep?

"M' first call," he assured, projecting as much earnestness as possible. And yet, it did feel good to know the offer was there…

* * *

It wasn't until the Blackbird was on the ground that Storm broke the news.

Wolverine, as typical, exploded.

"Magneto?! That's whose ass we're supposed to be hauling back?"

"Dought he was dead." Gambit reacted more practically.

Storm, radiating calm, shook her head. "Charles has been picking signals on Cerebro that would indicate that he is not only alive, but favorable to being found."

Wolverine's rant was long, ranging from bringing up just about every single manipulative action of the magnetic mutant, even those regarding his children (Gambit couldn't help the little comment that he hadn't realized Wolvie'd had a soft spot for Speedy and the Witch), to how mentally warped he was (Mystique's name definitely cropped up there) to how there was no way in hell he was letting that metal-headed maniac within five hundred miles of the Institute.

Storm listened with admirable poise. At the end, she turned to Gambit. "Do you have anything to add?"

"Jus' dat buckethead was always more on de crazed-fanatic side den de deranged-maniac." Wolverine glared at him, his knuckles flexing warningly. Gambit's hands flew up. "Jus' saying; ot'erwise y' definitely covered everyt'ing."

"Thank you Gambit, for your honesty. Wolverine, you are blunt as always." There was an edge of exasperation. "However, Charles would at least like the opportunity to speak to him in person. There is no guarantee he will stay with the X-Men."

Wolverine's cry of shock was inarticulate, but Storm's steely eyes (and ominous thunder rumbling in the background) said the argument was closed.

Gambit turned away, with a deep, gnawing feeling. He thought he'd put this page of his life behind. Damn it.

* * *

"Oh, I don't know," the girl nibbled on her lip, unconsciously moving closer to him as he began to look disappointed. "But I just started lately, maybe Irena could help you," she quickly added, smiling in relief when the stranger gave a charming grin, putting a hand to his heart.

"That would be wonderful, not that I ever consider talking to a pretty girl a waste," he answered lavishly, before bringing up his fingers to kiss them and (wave them toward her). She turned red and turned down her eyes.

Static crackled in his ear. "Eyes on the mission Gambit!" He forced himself not to flinch at the sharp tone, just gently dismissed the girl, who disappeared promising to send Irena as soon as possible. She also apologized for the club being too bright for his sensitive eyes, thus necessitating the sunglasses. His jaw tightened.

"Told you he shun't 've been the one to go in," grumbled another voice in the earpiece. "Gets too distracted by a nice rack and long legs."

"I've seen your idea of subtlety," Storm said simply, ending the conversation.

Gambit's eyes wandered over the club and he muttered, "Ain't like de femmes want t' wake up t' Gambit an'way."

"What was that Gambit?"

"Not'ing."

Magneto was actually not that hard to find once they spent a few days narrowing down his exact location. A few discreet inquiries at a few different bars and nicer dining establishments and Gambit was escorted into a room still lined with aging opulence. It had an air of old power and money, oddly fitting for the white-haired mutant seated by the bed.

He didn't seem surprised to see Gambit and that gnawing feeling developed real teeth.

"Magneto."

"Actually," the older man interrupted. "I'd prefer Joseph."

"Joseph," Gambit repeated, frowning. Not even Erik? He ran a critical eye over his former boss. His air of lofty control, barely contained power and intelligence, had dissolved, leaving a man with tired eyes, lines around his face, an edge of fatigue tingeing his every motion as he eased himself up from the chair. He looked like he'd been to hell and back – not a completely unthinkable idea to Gambit. "Any reason for de change?" He eased back on his heels.

The man didn't seem to hear the question, merely mustering a small smile as he looked over his shoulder. "I knew Charles would send someone to find me."

Remy had the bad feeling this was the start of some sort of plan that was going to involve the X-Men quite intimately. Just not from the other side.

Wolverine had no patience beyond that and interrupted before Gambit could question the newly christened Joseph further. Apparently he thought the obvious lack of hostility could last so long and all too soon Magneto was being escorted onto the Blackbird. Storm went on to prep it for takeoff, while Wolverine checked the little metal-less cocoon he'd concocted to keep Magneto 'safe' one more time. (Remy was impressed; he hadn't realized Wolverine could channel his aggression into something as constructive as building a cage.)

Remy was left with alone with Magneto. They stood in silence for a moment; Remy itched for a cigarette, but he wouldn't in front of the other mutant. Magneto glanced at him curiously.

"You know, your contract is over," he said conversationally, watching for a tenseness in Remy that Gambit refused to betray. When he remained silent, "He will be expecting you back."

Gambit shrugged. "Dat's my problem."

Magneto waited a second longer, but didn't heed the warning. "If you wait too long, you might not like how he gets your attention. And now with you with the X-Men-"

Remy couldn't help his infuriated glare, but thankfully Wolverine's return cut him off before he said anything stupid in response. He turned his back on both, as Wolverine none-too-politely hustled Magneto aboard.

He lit up as soon as they disappeared from sight – and he stared into the sky, painted by the sun on its way to setting.

* * *

It was a silent flight home, as Wolverine watched 'Joseph' suspiciously and Remy trying his best to ignore him. He was too keyed up to sleep, which was probably for the best. They arrived at night, but Remy didn't even bother stopping at his room. He had to get out – be anywhere else than there.

Miles away, he toasted his first glass to cursing mutantkind in general.

Fuck 'em all.

* * *

Wolverine narrowly eyed the intruder. It was close to 4 A.M. when his senses had alerted him to the commotion coming from the garage.

"I'm gettin' tired of luggin' your ass in," he growled at the drunken figure trying to weave his way through the assortment of vehicles before him. He'd tipped over Wolverine's ride already and the scowl became more pronounced.

Remy blinked blearily, looking down at the bike then up at Wolverine. "Oh," he hiccupped. "_Desolé_," he said with an exaggerated accent, trying to pick the bike up. He made it half-way before it slipped out of his grip.

Wolverine winced as it rebounded off the concrete floor.

"Cajun…"

Remy promptly started to giggle and resumed singing his French drinking song. Or what Wolverine assumed was a French drinking song.

_"Et sur mon manege, l'amour toujours est chantant_

_De mes reves, c'est le commencement_

_Et j'espere une fin heureuse_

_Mais la fin de l'histoire ne vient pas tres doucement"_

Huffing in annoyance, Wolverine collared the taller man, hauling him out of the garage. He got a noseful of bourbon and woman's perfume, and unconsciously began to growl.

"Not again."

* * *

"**Look Gumbo, the only reason I haven't carved you up into dice-sized pieces" claws popped out as if anticipation, "is 'cause she approached you and Chuck is determined to let her. Betta you here then someone else elsewhere apparently. It ain't because I think for one second-"**

"**She wasn't her."**

"**What?" Wolverine snapped, annoyed his threatening monologue seemed to not even have registered.**

**Remy blinked. "I tri'd t' **_**imaginemais **_**wasn't her. Cou'n't be, she felt-" he fluttered his fingers that at any other time Wolverine would've bluntly said was way too gay. Felt? "-cou'n't, cou'n't even touch her den. She just-" **

**There were no words to describe how it'd felt, when his empathy had reflexively reached for his partner, only to be assailed by the mind, the emotions of one he didn't recognize. It was like reaching for a pearl only to find the raw underbelly of an oyster and a speck of dirt.**

* * *

"I called her de wrong name."

Wolverine couldn't help but snort. "And she could tell?"

"I said Rogue. Rogue! I never even call de _chérie _dat - See! _Chere, chérie, petite, amoureux, _river rat, Roguey," he kept rambling.

* * *

"**How could she just – not even good 'nough for a second go. Not dat she got anyt'ing to compare it too. First," he stuck his thumb into his chest, "dat's me. Always be, no'," he hiccupped, "not dat it matters. Di'n't want me 'gain. **_**Gettin' used t' yo-u, not the touch.**_**" The impression was atrocious, but it didn't take any imagination to guess the quote's origin."So?" Gambit's anger whip-lashed.**

* * *

"And she kicked you out for that?"

Rogue was hardly more of a name than the other nicknames Gambit showered on the rest of female kind.

Gambit gave a guilty look, magnified by his drunken state, and mumbled on. "Mighta said she not Rogue an' dat's good. Dought Remy be some kinda cheater. Cheater McCheater," he launched into a high-pitched giggle that made Wolverine wince. "An' we didn' even date."

* * *

"**So?"**

* * *

The hilarity died a quick death. "Didn' even," he choked again, "_mais _she won't leave me 'lone. Jus' she's in my head – why won't she leave me 'lone?" It was almost a plea, but it disappeared just as quick as his other thoughts. Damn, if he thought Gambit was moody when not drunk… "If I could just touch'er, just-" He shook his head with such force he nearly wobbled out of Wolverine's grasp. "No, bad Gambit. _Fille_ poison, she even said, but she's not, she's not, but I'm infected. Ugh."

* * *

"**Fine, all dat jus' fine. I be Gambit, I be fine, jus', jus' need some time. An', an' she just a **_**femme.**_

**Wolverine stared at him. It was something like watching an operation, seeing the blood and guts and wounds be exposed to the world and then being sewn up out of sight. It was the morbid curiosity that made people crane their necks to see a car wreck.**

**He watched Gambit, Remy, continue babbling, saying all the words to convince himself that everything would be the same as it was before – and knowing them for the lies they were.**

**Damn, sympathy was a bitch.**

* * *

"Still want her, not sup-, sup-; no long'r in m'system. If I could jus' fuc-," he cut himself off, thankfully for him or Wolverine would've done it for him with definitely more force. "_Non_, not work. Too deep. She – too close," he shook his head again, but this time only like a rag doll. And as if to defy Wolverine's conclusion that the man had completely lost touch with the fact he was even there, he finally latched his demon eyes onto the other man. Dimmed only so much by the alcohol, the anguish was still clear. "Can't stay 'way dough, she jus' too, too – _les Sirenes._"

"If I could just touch her…" It was a whimper, a plea, a demand.

And Wolverine had to wonder-

What would happen when he did?

But that wasn't his business – and so he just grunted and got Remy moving again, even if it was staggering, to his room.

Damn promises.

(The song from above was basically about dreams and wanting to believe in happy endings, but how reality doesn't line up)

* * *

_Rogue:_

She'd held it together for exactly two minutes and fourteen seconds after he'd left, before curling into a ball and letting the sobs ineffectually shake her body.

It was done and – he hadn't even fought it her on it.

The next time she'd seen him, it'd been as if nothing had happened. She was just one of the _filles_ that went to the school, the same as the rest he flirted and schmoozed. It was harder than she'd expected, 

even as she'd tried to imagine the scenario, of the time after their practice, to just stand idly by while he smirked and charmed.

And every moment by him, so achingly close but for the distance she had to maintain, with the thought that only days ago she could've just reached out and touched him – it was like being cursed with her mutation all over again.

But this was inevitable, the only way it could've ended.

And so she tried to do as he, to act normal, like everything was as it once had been – as if she hadn't fallen in love with him.

Remy.

Deny it, even as it beat in her blood.

It was hard though. Sometimes, she just couldn't take it, couldn't take the pretending and his shallow grin (not when she knew every shade of his eyes, seen the depth of his gentleness) and she had to leave the room. But she couldn't do that so often, not with Kitty's perceptive watch and Kurt's concerned surveillance – not with as many eyes and wagging tongues as the Manor was filled with.

So she had to keep their barbed banter flowing. A jab here, an eye roll there.

Except she couldn't tell the line anymore – she'd always been bitingly sarcastic with him, dismissive, but now, without the flirtatious undertone – nothing she said seemed right. His eyes got darker and darker and she was left flailing, knowing without knowledge somehow everything was getting worse.

It didn't help that he'd begun lashing out at her.

"**Bonus time."**

"_**Connasse."**_

He called her bitch, with only the smokescreen of the lesson to hide its pointedness. And it fucking hurt, even though she could figure out why he was mad.

It didn't take that long to figure out really.

She'd offended his pride, stopping before he'd been able to fulfill all his fantasies. That she'd so _easily_ turned down his considerable talents.

Like hell she'd show him otherwise, so he could make that its very own notch on his belt.

"**Well, a **_**homme**_** likes to enjoy de work of his hands."**

All she was.

* * *

That day, when the card burst with a brilliance that gave a sun flare competition, she was terrified. She remembered nothing between seeing the card glow ominously and standing a foot away from his blinking body; she still wasn't sure how she'd gotten there so fast. Her heart pounded like a drum and it was all she could do not to touch him, reassure herself he was all right. His eyes were still blinking – oh _dieu_ they were sensitive to light, what if they'd been damaged… Her hands were shaking. She wanted to shake him for being so careless.

"**Swamp rat havin' some trouble?"**

It took all her effort to sound casual, suddenly aware of the fact the rest of the X-Men were no doubt still watching in the control room. And then there was Scott, oh fuck – she'd totally forgotten about him.

"**None at all, river rat. Sometimes de power revs a bit too high, leaves a bit too much damage. Wouldn't know 'bout dat I suppose."**

It went in like a knife and she flushed in hurt, which quickly shifted to anger. Anger was always easier to deal with. How dare he – how dare he bring that up, here of all places? That had been private with –

"**Least ah'm not losing out to 'visorboy,' Gambit."**

She fell back to exactly what she knew would sting, just as he knew what could cut her to the quick. And even if it made her eyes sting, she was still pissed.

It hurt that that was all it was.

* * *

Cheaters' peak continued:

Remy's powers - this has to do with how his mutation adapted to hers; she stopped absorbing him, but - well this is kinda experimenting with the idea Rogue might be able to split her energy absorption from her psyche absorption - though at this point, it'd be completely unconscious, an almost 'natural' consequence of prolonged contact with her exposed skin. Remy's mutation can manifest in a minimal energy 'shielding', the excited molecules providing a barrier, thus this is what it's begun doing to protect Remy from draining, forcing him to produce more energy than usual when he's with Rogue. He's become used to this though and doesn't register it. This shielding is then being drawn into Rogue unconsciously and converted into like a natural energy high for her - so her control with him is actually completely different from others due to their mutations (which means she's being effected physically by the abrupt end of their arrangement as well). I know, it's kindof complicated.

Xavier does tend to let his students find out some things experientially. Not to mention, how exactly would he make either of them listen? Remy is technically living there as an adult and Rogue would just shut down if he tried to discuss it with her (granted he might've or could've still tried). Also, he didn't want to run the risk of Rogue turning elsewhere and possibly doing something where he couldn't monitor it even obliquely. Finally, he's an idealist. I can't picture him really considering Rogue would either try or could go through with just having casual sex with someone, especially someone he's reasonably sure she likes (Remy) – and whom he has suspicions likes her back. I can see Xavier as a matchmaker and cheerleader for Remy in this scenario. However, for now, I'm going to keep him in the background.


	13. Dealer's Call

Okay, what happened in that last scene: night after Rogue kicked him out, Remy went out to get drunk and well, laid. But while he was fooling around with a girl, he reached out with his empathy, like he was accustomed to doing with Rogue. However, random girl was unfamiliar and feeling pure lust – he freaked out at the alienness. Then he freaked out about freaking out – thus drunk stumbling in the wee hours home.

Night after Joseph, Remy goes out to get drunk and now, after having taken a break from carousing, he thinks he can have casual sex. Except he calls the girl Rogue and well, drunk!Remy actually inadvertently explains it's a name of a girl he's hung up over. Girl ditches him. (To X-Storm)

Oh, people really, really don't like 'Joseph;' well don't worry, he's not going to get too much screen time. Not that he's the real one to worry about… -evil grin-

Rogue actually touching Remy, well yes and no. The energy barrier was/is to his energy, not to his skin. She does have control with him, but it is a bit symbiotic because she is picking up some of his 'shielding' even as he's kindof 'feeding' off her emotional energy.

Ah, everyone's noting the couple's issues with trust and emotionally stability. Well yeah, that's a huge issue for these two, especially learning how to accept intimate relationships. This story is about that and well, I'm going to experiment with actions vs. words…

* * *

Wisdom from the fanbase:

Mazdamiatta: "This is destroying me. I can't pick a side. One minute I'm rooting for Remy and then the next I can't help but want to hug Rogue." **Yes!! That is what I'm going for – you have to remember each character has their own biases and perception issues!! And when they think the worse, they look for and see things that build it up!** Rogue's admission of love – nope she is not in denial there!

ishandahalf: "I can see Xavier guiding them along behind the scenes, like he's been doing, but if he actually called them both out into the open, I think that would just end in tears or outright denial or rage. Or all three, most likely." I couldn't agree more.

Thanks to my reviewers!! (Where are you, ajax41 and Sassy18??)

Chica De Los Ojos Café: I love the Spanish song! Oh if only Remy was Spanish, it would fit perfectly… "I want to grab those two, kicking and screaming, lock them up in a tiny room so they can vent, and then just have make up sex on the floor!" Lol! Aren't all the very best couples like that?! As to Mariah Carey's "We Belong Together" it's good, but for Rogue's p.o.v. **"Long Ago" by Mariah** fits perfectly!! Also, "Sometimes Love Just Ain't Enough" by Patty Smyth would work too for her.

ishandahalf: lol - hippy love commune! Remy emotionally sane, LOL! Aren't they a great emotional contrast? Rogue is usually seen as the resister, but it's more like suppression. Remy on the other hand, at least in this story, is fighting it.

Rogue181, PyroWhore (thanks!), Conquistador Imp, Dmik33, thegambit23 (ah, shallow feelings showing deeper now! And the song is cool!), musariven (lol - I wish), Wiccamage (er, depends on def. of 'real fun'), Captain Annie (what did you mean about the end? departure from normal p.o.v. _is_ important to mark), cream tea anyone, coldqueen ("I LOVE that he's so tortured about this. It amuses me." LOL! As to how long draw this out -evil grin-.)

Best quote goes to Chica De Los Ojos Café: "They could live with JUST complicated."

Runner-up – ishandahalf: "Man, they need therapy." Lol! But true…

* * *

It Takes Two...to Practice

* * *

13) Dealer's Call

* * *

It was just past noon when Remy staggered into the kitchen, sunglasses and massive hangover in place. As his brain proceeded to beat a rhythm that'd fit well in Mardi Gras, he swore this was the last time he got dead drunk for a while. These past two weeks were starting to become way too eerily like his leaving of New Orleans.

He'd carefully listened to find out if anyone was already occupying the room – he was hardly in the mood for company. It was probably a vain hope though; it was Saturday and the student residents' movements tended to be unpredictable on weekends.

He obviously hadn't listened well enough, because Kitty's head immediately popped up from the tray she was arranging on the main kitchen island.

"Remy!" He paused, but considering he was already in the kitchen, it was too late. Anyway, Kitty was a great source of Manor gossip – and he was sure there was plenty going on now.

"Mornin', _petite_," he half-mumbled, making his way to the coffee machine. Caffeine couldn't cure the hangover, but at least it'd wake him up.

"Late night?" The shrewd question caught him off-guard, but his back was to her. He settled for a shrug.

"Whatcha up to?" he asked to deflect, making a gesture towards the rather large tray she was loading with sandwiches and closed drinks, even as he fished for a mug for his brewing coffee.

"I'm making lunch for Magneto," he turned just in time to see her make a face, "_Joseph_ and the Professor. They've been cooped up in the Prof's room all morning coming up with some weird plans for him to help us out in training."

Remy snorted. "T'ought he already did dat." Kitty acknowledged the jibe with a barely suppressed grin.

"Technically so did you," she commented, but without malice. "Anyway, apparently he's given up his plans for like, mutant domination of the world and wants to help other mutants gain control of their abilities, so at least they can like, defend themselves."

"Bet he and de prof got some disagreement dere," Remy mused. Magneto's ideas of defense had always been rather proactive.

Kitty blinked, tilting her head. "Huh, maybe. But he's also got these ideas to make the Manor more like a mutant school 'stead of just a boarding school. That's what they're discussing right now. I don't think the Professor totally agrees with taking mutants out of the schools."

Remy nodded. "Might be easier dough," he pointed out.

Kitty gave a little flip of her hair. "Well duh, but well, the Prof wanted us to go back to school to prove to people we're safe to be around – and y'know, just like everyone else."

"Prof t'inks humans and mutants can live together in _paix et harmonie_."

Kitty's hands, halfway reaching for a salt and pepper shaker, froze. "Peace and harmony, right?" She didn't wait for an answer, looking up at him. "You don't?"

It was too early for such a frank philosophical question from guileless blue eyes and his temples throbbed. He turned back to retrieve his cup of coffee, giving another shrug. "'s a nice idea," he said non-commitally. He deflected again, even though he could feel her sharp eyes on his back. "So how'd you get roped inta makin' lunch f' Mags?"

"Oh, Scott assigned me to it, which was kinda cool 'cause I like never get access to the kitchen. He even suggested I make something myself, but as if I'm going to like, waste my cooking on Magneto." Remy was glad his back was to her, because his knowing grin was impossible to contain. Kitty's cooking was legendary and he'd had his own experience with the girl's expertise. Looked like Scotty boy wasn't liking Magneto's presence anymore than Wolverine.

Kitty was still talking though. "But hey, at least this gets me outta of my room – Rogue's been having such funky moods lately." Remy couldn't help the stiffening effect the name had on him. He hadn't heard it in days.

"Oh?" he asked casually, settling himself on a stool on the other end of the kitchen island, instead of the other side.

"Yeah, she's been all bad-moody no-touchy no-talky ever since I moved back in. Keeps going off by herself or just hanging out in rooms around people, which is just weird for her, even if she doesn't like interact. She's always tired too, but she won't sleep – it's really weird. I'd like take it personally, but she y'know keeps saying she's glad to have me around." Kitty glanced at him at that last part, but he didn't react, just took another sip of his coffee.

"Pro'lly jus' gettin' used ta havin' a roommate again."

Kitty shrugged. "I guess. But well, maybe Bobby will be able to cheer her up – he's been volunteering to practice with her-"

He nearly dropped his cup. "Dat pipsqueak?!"

Kitty turned her face to look at him fully. "What, you have someone else in mind?" she asked with a raised eyebrow.

It was a classic setup, the perfect cue for one of his infamous arrogant statements of how he was the better choice. The better choice – **"It's your touch"** – the switchblade words laced through his brain, but another echo now met them – **"she's been all bad-moody no-touchy."** His head ached with more than the force of his headache. Kitty's eyes were too knowing – and he couldn't recite the line. But he didn't dare look away. "Bet anybody'd be bettah den Iceboy," he said lightly.

She stared for a full second after the response and he actually thought she might – but then she turned away and picked up the tray. "If you say so," she said with her own shrug and walked out of the room.

Remy sat there for a full minute after before throwing his coffee into the sink.

It was too bitter anyway.

* * *

"Why Remy, I was wondering whether I would see you today!"

Remy rolled his shoulders, leaning back against the doorframe rather than continuing into the Lab. "Not here f' a checkup Henri, jus' want'd ta let y'know doin' fine."

Hank's face lost the interested excitement examination always brought on, instead settling into a cautious curiosity.

"I appreciate the courtesy, but are you sure…" he trailed off with careful pressure, vaguely gesturing to his examination chair with an oversized blue hand.

Remy gave a small grin. "Not dat I don' like y', but me an' medical tables don' really get 'long."

"Ah, I was surprised you agreed so easily these past few times, though I must wonder at the change."

Remy's cards came out and he shuffled them, telling himself it was because being in the Lab always unnerved him, not to mention his hangover had yet to completely fade. Hank was fishing, but not discretely enough. "T'ings always changing," he remarked casually. He glanced past the doctor to the infirmary rooms beyond him. "Nobody else down here now?"

Hank followed his line of sight. "Ah, no. No one was injured while you all were away, though honestly some of the younger boys," he grimaced, before going on. "Rogue's practice sometimes occurs down here, but lately Charles has been trying to ease Rogue's practice into real life settings." His eyes trailed back to Remy, even as his lips turned into a frown. "Unfortunately, Rogue has gotten into the bad habit of canceling practices due to fatigue."

Remy's hands kept flicking through the cards. He counted them.

"It's too bad really," Hank added absently, his gaze returning from being distant. "I was really hoping she was ready to make the transition to practicing with her teammates at large."

52; he slipped the cards back into the case in his pocket.

"Dat be too bad," he said lightly, aware of Hank's eyes on him. And he thought he'd past the surveillance stage of being an X-Man. "She be a _belle fille_."

He turned to leave when Hank asked, "Will things change again?" Remy tensed. "And I'll see you for another checkup?"

"_Peut-être_" (Maybe; literally could be)

Perhaps she wasn't so unaffected.

* * *

He didn't go looking for her, not exactly. He had little idea where she'd be anyway and if she was in her room, well he couldn't go there. Tracking her would be hard and her shields to his empathy had only strengthened in their separation, though he'd hardly had time or genuinely wanted to coax them down. He could be within feet of her and feel nothing. At least, nothing on her side.

And besides, he wasn't convinced he wanted to find her.

Her roommate was another matter completely.

"-and looks like Magneto didn't even put up a fight; kinda anticlimactic I guess," passing the rec room, her voice was easy to make out and despite himself, his lips creased into a wry smile. "Well, at least no one got hurt."

There was a snort and Remy's fingers tensed against the doorway. "Told you he'd come back with his hide intact."

But he couldn't resist.

"How can you tell _chere_?" Her head shot up and there she was, all lovely and untouchable, big jade eyes and straightened chocolate hair that he just wanted to see tangled and curly against the sheets of her bed. He stepped in front of her and mockingly spun in a 360, holding his arms out to let his trench coat flare. He smirked when her eyes trailed down his form- "Y' welcome t' an _inspection_." –except he could see the bags under her eyes, discernable even under the makeup, the strained pale of her face, the gloves she wore…

Jade fire snapped to his red. "As if ah'd want ta," she spat, the edgings of a blush tinting her cheeks.

"C'mon _chérie_, no lies," he enticed with an edged grin, taking a step closer to her. She was a foot away, seated on the couch, a forgotten book in her lap. If he just reached out a hand, he could caress her cheek…

She stood, not backing away though it brought her within inches of his chest, her eyes burning into his. "What makes yah think ah'm lying?" Her chin was high, defiant. She would not give an inch - and the fury laced his blood. She was affected – but she was far too stubborn. He had no answer, but insistence.

"_Je le sais_." (_I know it_)

For a moment she seemed to falter, but then she turned to Kitty, who was watching them wide-eyed from the other end of the couch. "C'mon Kitty, ah'm sho (sure) there's soma else we can go an' talk without bein' rudely interrupted."

Icily she brushed by him.

The anger charged red-hot and his fists tightened.

* * *

Rogue stood before him, body crouched in defensive formation, eyes calculating.

Deliberately, he shed his trench coat and threw it to the side, before limbering up mockingly. He cracked his knuckles, but she didn't flinch.

"Ready t' begin?" he purred.

She didn't answer, but slowly began to circle. Gambit didn't move, instead focusing on the feel of her movement, the brush of molecule releasing and absorbing energy. It was a flow, a dance – she began to edge out of his sight and still he waited…until the last possible second. She went for his ankles and he slid out of the way, viciously whipping around to bring interlocked hands down on her shoulder. She went down with a grunt, absorbing the impact with her body.

"Yah gonna pay for that," she said – but it wasn't the same.

Now he circled her, a lion after its prey. Physically it was her – same smoothed hair, same plated uniform, same snub nose, same angular jaw, same porcelain skin, same damn curves. But nothing could replicate the challenging glint of her eyes or that sneer of her voice.

He'd been bored the day he'd searched the Danger Rooms' archive of hostiles, idly thinking he might come across himself. Instead, he'd been surprised to come across Rogue. It was an old file, with only the bare minimum of information; she'd only been an enemy to the X-Men for a few weeks after all. Still, the simulation intrigued him and, through a little fiddling which he was not about to admit to the X-Men he was capable of, he merged the new data read-outs of her current capabilities as an X-Man with the old. He marveled at the seamlessness as she picked herself off the ground.

She had the same moves, even slightly tempered by his own as their last session had been inputted, the same speed, the same dexterity. And yet…

He took the attack this time, managing to land a brutal blow to her jaw that made him swallow an apology, hurling some of the words he dearly wanted to burn Rogue's little ears with. But she didn't get upset, barely even talked back to him coldly, just focused on rendering him unconscious. If this one touched him, there was no possibility she wouldn't absorb.

Remy tired of the game and in a quick combo, he'd wrenched her off-balance then clipped her leg to send her sprawling to the ground. In a flash, he'd straddled her, pinning her in place. He looked down at her – a mask of frustration, flush of exertion, tumbling hair, the cloth of her uniform under his fingertips. He leaned closer and _Dieu_, even her sweat was consistent.

But it wasn't her – because this Rogue had never bantered with him, come apart in his arms, his hands that she'd tenderly stroked gloveless, or huskily asked what exactly he wanted to do to her.

With her.

And yet…

Her chest heaved beneath him, a faux imitation of a living being, not an illusion – and her eyes still were that shade of green and it made him ache to be so close after so long –

She is so close…

He closes his eyes, his senses, and presses his lips against hers.

"Session terminated." The voice is cold and impersonal. "Reason: suicide."

And she melts away leaving him with nothing.

_

* * *

_

I keep looking for something I can't get

_Broken hearts lie all around me_

_And I don't see an easy way out of this_

_Her diary, it sits on the bedside table_

_The curtains are closed, the cat's in the cradle_

_Who would've thought that a boy like me could come to this?_

* * *

He didn't get drunk that night. But by the time he stumbled into his room, he was reasonably glad he hadn't gone to a bar far away.

He'd gotten three steps in, his coat half-shrugged off his shoulders when the presence registered – his eyes snapped up and –

She was there.

She stood before, a swirl of shadows and pale luminance, long legs and slender arms, upturned face framing cloth lost in the darkness. But then she stepped into a slanting beam of moon light and the determination revealed her.

"Yah were right."

It takes him a few minutes to comprehend the low murmur. Her eyes, emerald now, turned to him and her face is unveiled – she wasn't wearing makeup. Inevitably though, his gaze traveled downward and his breath caught.

She was wearing black lingerie with tracings of red over the faux corset ribbing – it was the same he'd imagined, once upon a time and he didn't know whether to be pleased or horrified.

He blinked. "_Quoi_?" tumbled inelegantly from his lips.

"Yah were right," she repeated, this being that had to be an apparition. His fingers itched…

"Ah need more practice."

Practice?

The idea was preposterous, unthinkable, insane, ridiculous –

She had just dum- ended their arrangement without warning and now she wanted to what, just re-start like nothing had occurred? Like she hadn't just spat that afternoon that she wouldn't want to touch him?

- and yet…

He can't deny the thrill of seeing her before him again, _wanting_ him. It made him grin, flash his teeth like the predator he is to the dog who's bared her throat to him in submission, even as his body tensed in eager anticipation.

She shifted under the intensity of his gaze and a strap, precariously perched on the cusp of her shoulder, slid down.

The possibilities flooded his veins. He wanted to crow at her desire, toy with her, make her beg.

The strap was off her shoulder.

He wanted to revel in it and then refuse her, shove it in her face and then kick her out the door.

The strap was off her shoulder, two inches of bare skin between where it was and where it was supposed to be.

He wanted…

Her strap was off her shoulder - and he hated her, hated her indifference, her fickleness, her dismissiveness, but he reached anyway. His hand, as if listening to another rationale, reached out and slid the strip up, into place.

The illusion… can't bet on it though…

His gloves were fingerless and the bare pads of his fingers trailed over her soft skin. Her body quivered and it sent a very real echo through his body. Once the strap was in place, it ventured over her shoulder, down to her bust line, and then one by one, trailed down the links of her corset. His hand wove into the last tie and with one jerk, she was in his arms. He dropped his head to her neck and breathed her in. She shuddered.

He so desperately wants to hate her - hate her, even if he can't, won't figure out, confront why.

But he can't.

He touches her - she lets him - and once is not enough.

And he knows he wouldn't be able to turn her away. He wishes he could, but the wish can't be too vehement when he's sinking his hands in her hair, his lips between her bared breasts after he unlaced her before him and slid his gloves off to caress her naked thighs and rest the grip of his palms on her hips, even as the perfume of her scent floods his nose and her pulse twines with his own and her walls part to accept his empathetic delving into the rhythm of her desire and passion that he, he damn it!, unlocked within her.

Not that he wants to remember that, the smiles, the sneers, the whispered words, the flung insults – he just wants to feel the friction of her skin against his, the heaviness of her breasts in his palms, hear gasps against his ear that are only natural, insignificant. He can lose himself in her, in the essence of her femininity, and that is all, that is all that he cares about.

He closes his eyes and the corset hits the floor and it is just them, man and woman, and he doesn't have to think of why this has taken so long or is wrong or special.

**Fuckbuddy.**

If he can just forget...

And then she says it.

A secret.

Three little words.

"Ah missed you."

She whispers them into his skin, tattooing them against his shoulder, even as she grips his hips, her eyes closed.

And he is unraveled.

He clutches her and he cannot pretend this isn't her, isn't Rogue and exactly, exactly what he wants and has wanted for what feels like forever now and the fiery anger, the blind desire softens into warmth and as he slides into her, he cannot be anything but tender.

And he must be tipsy otherwise he would not hold her so tight and confess -

"You were more than a challenge."

_Always._

And they plunge into oblivion.

_

* * *

_

It must've been something you said,

_I just died in your arms tonight_

_Oh, I just died in your arms tonight_

_It must've been some kind of kiss_

_I should've walked away, I should've walked away_

_Is there any just cause for feeling like this?_

Song: "(I Just) Died In Your Arms Tonight" by Cutting Crew


	14. Gambling's an Addiction

Joseph – um whoa, that got more of a reaction then I was really expecting. Actually, I'm trying to include pieces of Xavier's vision in the last episode. That meant including a non-evil Magneto and I kindof always associate that with Joseph, so thus he got included. He won't be a major player however.

As to the suicide statement, I could've gone with forfeit, but I felt that terminology was too card-associated. Considering it a mission or combat situation, he did 'suicide' in a way – he'd have been unconscious and unable to complete it.

Aw, people thought Rogue was an illusion. Nope, this time she was the real deal.

* * *

Wisdom from readers:

Kat: "Poor Remy. When he doesn't have her, he tries to imagine that it IS Rogue, and when he has Rogue, he tries NOT to think that it's her. He needs her to want him the way he wants her...and when he thinks she doesn't, he tries in vain to pretend." Hmm, I didn't realize that was so ironic!

Ishandahalf: "I loved his conflicting emotions, simultaneously wanting to apologize for hitting rogue and yet wanting to rage against her. That's the problem, isn't it? That seesawing of emotions, between desire and anger, hurt and yearning, love and hate." Absolutely.

And why did so many think this was the happy ending? There's a reason she showed up then!

Dreamschemer: "Until they can tell each other fully what was going on, how they felt, then they'll just fall into the same old habits." **Yes! **Ishandahalf and Valerie J, you all noted this. (Oh it ain't over 'til one of them speaks the other three little words BWAHAHAH! -cough-)

Roguerulez, Chica De Los Ojos Cafe (blush! And yes unadulterated is a word…), SkyRogue (LOL seeing your 'will return' messages was so great!), 3t3rnityzAng3l (not discontinued, duo chapters coming out actually soon), Brutal Moonshine (cell phone & long nails, oy!), Danielle Britton, nuriiko, Rogue181, New Moon Night, Stacey, flaming-mod, musariven (that song has been done by so many, I just cited one), Wiccamage _(changes yes, but bystanders aren't sure of the causes; -blush-; oh and I was actually referring to a certain someone rather than the city…)_, mazdamiatta **(I love cartoons! John Legend – ooh yeah. We'll see about the practice; was what they were doing before even really practice?)**, ashez2ashes, thegambit23, ShadowFax999 _(lol, ah caught the dumping slip! Hmm, as to the characters you mentioned, well, -wicked grin-)_, Captain Annie (you're right - thanks for your thoughtful critique), coldqueen, Wanda W (depth is so much fun!), cream tea anyone (I'll have to bring those boxers back at some point – even if he is kinda more of a briefs guy –shudder-), MidniteAngelGoth, ishandahalf _(I love subtlety – mostly b/c I suck at it in real life; lol about Kitty and them going at it.)_

Best Quotes:

Chica De Los Ojos Cafe – "Their love (even if they won't admit it) makes you believe you can work something out with anyone, even if you want to kill your significant other 99.9 of the time." lol

And this one is so sweet! "You can't help but want it to be real, because after everything these two go through, you want them to be real, real enough to finally feel the joys of love after all the crap they have to put up with to get there."

Lyrics are still from "I (Just) Died In Your Arms Tonight," except for one instance and an Interlude is coming next. -Grin-

* * *

It Takes Two...to Practice

* * *

14) Gambling's an Addiction

_

* * *

_

It was a long hot night

_She made it easy, she made it feel right_

_But now it's over, the moment is gone_

_I followed my hands, not my head_

* * *

She was gone when he awoke, the cool sheets testament to her early get-away.

It made sense of course.

_**Practice.**_

His hand slowly fisted in the clothing pocket of her absence.

So the game was back in play.

Fine, he could do that.

It was too early for further considerations.

* * *

He stumbled blearily out of bed, cursing whoever it was that'd convinced Xavier early morning sessions were a good idea. (His bet was on a certain one-eyed boy scout who'd never dream of sleeping in – pansyass.)

He stumbled into Danger Room with more flair, taking head count mentally. All the girls were there, already in a gossiping cluster; the guys were more haphazard – Jamie counted as three; from the way Roberto was panting someone had obviously just dashed in.

He cursed morning sessions more sympathetically this time.

"_Bon jour," _he greeted the class, immediately sliding into a stretch as a cue for them. Used to routine, the young mutants echoed the greeting and began their own warm-ups.

The practice went smoother than normal, other than the fact the girls gossiped anytime his eyes weren't on them. He wondered what had so snatched their attention. He didn't even get a single flirtatious comment from Boom-Boom.

Something was definitely up.

He let them go early, snagging Jubilee on the way out.

"Thanks G, for the early let-go and not killing us. You've been almost as bad as Wolvie lately," she said, making a snapping noise with her jaw that made him wonder if she was chewing gum. "Guess I should thank some lucky girl for the good mood?" She grinned cheekily and he let his face relax into an easy smirk. Some lucky girl…yeah.

"Guess so," he answered non-committally, deciding to overlook the comparison to Wolverine. "But looks like I'm not de only one in ah good mood-"

She snapped up the bait with all the gusto of a fish with a death wish.

"Oh, I know isn't it, like, so perfect, not that anyone thought that it wasn't gonna happen but guess Apocalypse did shake up Scott and now it's like official-"

"Woah, woah, _petite_, breat' in between words, _d'accord_?"

She nodded furiously.

"Now what's dis about de Fearless Leader?"

Jubilee blinked up at him in consternation, her jaw falling open and displaying – yes she had hid gum during practice. "You haven't heard? Scott proposed to Jean last night!"

"**Yah were right."**

All he could hear were her words and the rushing of blood through the inner parts of his ear.

"**Ah missed you."**

Yeah fucking right.

* * *

He strolled into the kitchen casually, earning more than one interested glance at the fact his shirt was sweat-soaked. Scott started to frown when Gambit turned to him.

"Jus' heard de good news," he said. "Congrats t' you an' Red." Jean, whom Scott was hovering over as she flipped celebration pancakes, smiled widely.

"Why, thank you Remy."

He gestured to her hand and she excitedly thrust out her small diamond. He took her hand in his own, aware of Scott's suspicious glance, and examined the rock expertly.

"Cloud, J, 3/4 carat in Princess cut. Will wonders neva cease; Shades' got good taste."

Jean beamed and Scott relaxed infinitesimally as Gambit released the hand.

He didn't look in her direction, but he knew she hadn't looked up, just paused in stirring her cereal.

"Y' a good fit f' each other," he added. "But y' cou'n't waited anotha month? Lost a bet ova dat…"

Jean giggled and Scott rolled his eyes, unconsciously tightening his grip on her waist. Remy swallowed the bitterness in his throat.

"A bet?" Scott grumbled obliviously.

"Ain't like de whole mansion wasn't expectin' you two t' tie de knot," he shrugged. "I shoul' go showa though. Jus' wanted t' make sure got t' give m' _félicitations_." He saluted a _Salut_ and left.

He never looked at her.

* * *

He paced like a mad man that night, unable to contain his anger, his frustration, his uncertainty.

Would she even come?

Could he even let her?

But when she finally slipped through his exterior door, he said nothing. He stared at her for a full minute, the glitter of her green eyes lost in the darkness, the distance of unspoken things making the air vibrate. But he said nothing.

"**He's still an ass and ah'm still a bitch. Ain't nothin' changed."**

And his lips were on hers and his fingers dragged up and off her pajamas (no lingerie this time – no need to dress up) and he touched the skin that she shielded from the rest of the world and drew out her lust – and closed his eyes.

And when she left, after they were done, carefully pulling her nightwear and boots on over the ivory flesh he'd just caressed, he silently smoked a cigarette.

_

* * *

_

I know I was wrong.

* * *

It took three days for his powers to return to 'normal.'

He told others it was a hiccup, an anomaly. He looked into Xavier's eyes coolly, but avoided Hank.

He had a theory about it actually, that she'd been unwittingly absorbing some of his energy while they practiced – and his body had compensated. As long as she hadn't been constantly pulling his consciousness, he didn't care. Two weeks before, he would've told Rogue, reassured her he could handle the consequences, delight in how seamlessly their powers interlocked. But now...

He wondered if she had a theory. Did she think it was his emotions sending his powers into a fritz? The idea was unsettling. Or had she too realize the link between it and her powers? How had she been affected by their separation?

But he couldn't ask, not now – and he hated her for giving him a taste before of something he'd never known he'd wanted – and now had taken away.

_

* * *

_

Godd- my spinning head

_Decisions that made my bed_

_Now I must lay in it_

_And deal with things I left unsaid_

_I want to dive into you_

_Forget what you're going through_

_I get behind, make your move_

_Forget about the truth_

Maroon 5 "Makes Me Wonder"

* * *

Their affair wasn't as he imagined.

Watching her leave, seeing her put back on the layers that would defy him the next day, only to be brought to the floor in the night. He almost wanted to tell her to f- it all and just keep them on for all he cared. Almost. But as they defied him, he still wanted to strip them off one by one yet again; still wanted her with an edge he couldn't deny.

It made him wonder; if he could wrap his hands around that one piece of herself she refused to share - would that satisfy him? Would he then be able to pick up his chips and leave the table?

He was afraid it would.

He was more afraid it wouldn't.

And so he pushed her and plied her, made her beg and plead for his touch, then soothed her with a thoroughness he'd never taken time for in the before time.

He wasn't sure who he was punishing – or indulging.

And she just made it harder to tell.

"Ah didn't choose yah jus' because of yah abilities."

He closed his eyes, telling himself that had never mattered anyway.

And yet…

"Neither did I."

* * *

He was talking to her.

It wasn't a secluded conversation, the rec room was hardly an isolated location, but – he was leaning. The white-haired sonofab- was looking at her with innocent eyes and could've been talking about training or something else inane, but he was talking to her alone. Her eyes were wary and her arms protectively crossed in front of her, but she was listening. And the mere sight made his skin crawl.

She finally got tired of whatever he was saying and strolled away, allowing Remy to make his way to his past employer.

He didn't mince words. "Stay away from her."

Magneto looked at him with a faintly amused smile, the mildness that hadn't slipped since his arrival making Remy's fingers burn. "Oh, so now you are a knight-in-shining-armor-" he cocked his head knowingly, "or would that be Robin Hood?"

Remy took the jab stoically. "Who's deluding who, _Joseph_?

Magneto's face softened, turning inward and distant. And somehow that just made Remy's anger worse. What right did he have to repent? "Yes," he murmured, "we all must have our dreams, mustn't we?"

There was no answer for that and so Remy just repeated himself.

"Jus' leave Rogue alone."

* * *

He stood under the spray of the shower, letting the day's grime and tension wash off under the hot pelting. It was probably time for Rogue's appearance, but he merely sunk his head under the water. Let her wait. He had left the door open a crack though, wondering what she would do.

Piotr was early to bed, early to rise kind-of guy, so they'd had few issues sharing the bathroom or even bumping into each other. It was very convenient.

Especially when he felt the air stirring from someone's entrance.

"How 'long yah gonna take Cajun?" Despite her bold approach, he could sense her hesitance.

He took a breath and spun the flow to half-off. He drew the curtain, leaning back against the cold tile, filmed from the heat of his shower. Her gaze automatically flicked down his unashamedly nude body and he nearly smiled at the fact she blushed. Even after all… The next words jumped out of his throat, a challenge he knew was double-edged.

"If y' so _impatiente_, y' could jus' join me." His hands brushed his thighs and her eyes jumped down, then skittered away. His grin became razor-sharp. "Could jus' consider it practice."

Deep jade meet fire red defiantly and her chin went up. Her fingers, only fumbling slightly, unlaced her shoes, slid down her socks, her pants, slid off her shirt. He settled back further, never taking his eyes off her as she stripped for him. She hesitated for a moment in her bra and underwear and he realized it was the first time he wasn't removing them for her. But she met his eyes again and unclasped her bra, letting it fall forward, accentuating the fullness of her breasts. The underwear only took a little hip shimmy and a single tug.

He swallowed at the surprisingly seductive sight, aware she could tell the effect it had on him.

And in three small steps, she stepped into the shower with him. His head instinctively dipped to just over her neck as he tugged the curtain closed behind her, trapping her against him.

He left the flow at half-off, unable to resist beginning to bathe her body with his lips. She slipped trying to adjust her footing and ended up pushing him against the wall. He didn't protest, just kissed her urgently and delighted in the friction of wet flesh to flesh. Her head tilted up, he could hear her breathy gasps and he nipped at her neck. She nearly slid again as her knees weakened, but he caught her.

"Remy-" she mumbled. "Why the hell ain't y' slippin'?" Her irritation was too languid to be real, but he could read the half-accusation. And – he just responded.

A secret for free.

"I've neva invited a _femme_ inta the shower wit' me."

She looked up at him and in the sliding of her gaze under her sopping white bangs, he could read the question.

_So why invite me? _

But she didn't ask (they didn't ask questions, not any more) and he slid his hand down her side because he couldn't answer anyway –

"**We all must have our dreams, mustn't we?"**

And he realized finally it was no longer a game.

_

* * *

_

On the surface I'm a name on a list

_I try to be discreet, but then blow it again_

_I've lost and found, it's my final mistake_

_She's loving by proxy, no give and all take_

_'Cause I've been thrilled to fantasy one too many times_

* * *

Kitty nearly ran him down in her haste, but he was quick to step to the side. He'd seen her go through people before – and that was just plain disturbing. But she pulled up short, eyes darting and lips almost bloody from her biting on it. He noted the fact with uneasiness.

"Have you seen Rogue?" she shot out.

He blinked, before raising an eyebrow. "De _chérie _don't 'xactly like ta hang around me."

"Well yeah, but-" Kitty wrung her hands,"It's just she's really upset and I can't find her anywhere. I've seriously checked like every room and there's no bikes or cars missing, so she's got to be around, and Mr. Logan swears that she hasn't left the house but-"

"Woah, _du calme petite_." He sent out a tendril to calm her, resting a hand on her arm. "What happened?"

Her eyes darted again, but she answered after a moment. "She and Kurt got into a fight."

"Blue boy?" Remy winced internally. Kurt and Rogue were an odd pair, but he'd come to respect the bond of sibling solidarity between the two. Rogue would grumble about him, but he'd never seen Kurt say anything negative about or to Rogue. Given how others had turned on Rogue, he had little doubt a fight between them would devastate Rogue.

Kitty explained in a rush. "Rogue has a practice coming up this weekend and well, she kept canceling them before so Kurt went ahead and made a date with Amanda. Rogue had just assumed he was going to be there and she kindof accused him of being unsupportive. Kurt then accused her of not being really committed to her own practice and-" she paused.

* * *

"**Well ah'm sorry that ah ain't doin' this ta yah satisfaction. If ain't dealin' the way yah want yah can't jus'-"**

**Rogue was left groping for the word and Kurt's eyes glittered.**

"**Vhat? Manipulate you?" Kurt's fury overflowed. "I vouldn't dare; 've seen your reaction to that!"**

* * *

Kitty bit her lip. "-somehow they got on the subject of Mystique and Rogue – she just stopped arguing." Kitty blinked her eyes to prevent the stem of tears. Rogue had looked like she'd been stabbed, but Kurt's contrition had come too late.

Remy nodded and let her return to her fruitless search.

He didn't bother searching – he didn't have to. When they'd snuck out that night to go to the club, he'd pointed out the roof approach that he used to make his way between his and her room. There was a perfect patch, he told, for late-night stargazing. She'd laughed at his romanticism, but after pointing out how to make the climb, he'd promised to take her up there some time.

He never had.

The climb was nearly instinctual by now and he ignored the bittersweet memories. Sure-footed, he made his way over the roof tiles, glad it hadn't rained lately, especially as there was a nip in the dark evening air already. Ice wouldn't have been fun.

He stepped over the crest of the roof and she was curled there, knees tucked to the crown of her head, her face hidden in the cocoon of her body. He padded over to her.

"Go 'way," she mumbled.

"Can't do dat _chérie_." His heart squeezed in his chest, wringing out an ounce of compassion yet.

Her shoulders were stiff and he could tell she was holding back sobs. He didn't press her empathetic walls, but sidled next to her. Crouching, he carefully slid out of his coat, swinging it over her thin frame. Still so thin. She let it enfold her.

"Ah," her voice caught. "-ah don't wanna talk about it."

"_D'accord_."

They sat in silence for a minute as he looked into the darkness, until she shifted in the coat. "Yah gonna get cold."

He shrugged, as her face peeked out at him, still partially obscured by the arm wrapped around her knees.

"I cin heat de air 'round m' body f' a bit, but you- ain't like y' dressed for de cold. Dat skin ain't-"

Her shoulders shook and he froze as she gave a warning liquid hitch of breath. He cursed, feeling her pain bleed.

"Ah-ah," her breath was catching and her body began to rock. "Ah don'-"

"_Chere_." He was embracing her before he realized he'd moved and then her nose bumped his chin and her lips brushed his throat. And something chilled within him. "_Chere_?" he breathed.

"Ah," her voice sounded by his ear as she clumsily turned in his embrace, pulling him against her. The coat fluttered off her shoulders unto the angled roof. "Ah don' wanna rememba; ah jus', jus' wanna," she choked but didn't need to say more.

Forget.

He swallowed thickly, letting his bangs flutter over his eyes. Her fingers brushed his waist, drawing him closer. "Dis ain't gonna make it go 'way. Trus' me on dis, _chérie_."

She gazed up at him, liquid green glittering in the shine of weak moonlight. Another hitch of her breath, the pale of her broken face stark against the darkness.

"Please Remy," she whispered and he, he could deny her nothing.

She moved against him and caught his mouth. And he smoothed the coat and gently laid her down. Her lips were crimson in the night.

He covered her with his body, with every delicate brush, drawing her pain away from her, leaving her clothes on, but venturing below their surfaces, tracing her stomach, the curve of her ribs, her breasts, easing her pants loose and stroking the swell of her hips.

She tucked her head in the crook of his neck, as he gently showered her face with the warmth of his breath and drag of his lips. But when he tasted salt, he had to follow it to its source, laving the evidence of her pain with his touch.

"Rogue."

And she broke to pieces against him, even as he began to ease himself into her.

"Ah, ah don't regret it. Oh God, ah don't regret it. If she was on that cliff again," her voice broke off and he, he didn't know what he wanted but it wasn't this, it wasn't this secret and he kissed her mouth, but she had started and now couldn't stop so easily. "It wasn't her, but if ah thought- Ah'm sorry it hurt Kurt, but-" She began to sob. "She, she made meh open Apocalypse. Ah couldn't, couldn't-" Her body was shaking but he didn't, he couldn't move away, trapped within her. "Remy," she all but begged.

But he couldn't give her absolution.

Nothing but his own scarred hands.

**

* * *

**

He'd stumbled out of the bar, leaning on an equally-intoxicated chortling Lapin.

**Julien had been waiting, with his whole personal crew of 'Rippers.' Remy had been too drunk to appreciate the full gravity – and too confident that Julien wasn't seriously going to try to wreck the peace he was marrying to ensure the next day.**

**He'd been wrong; but his mutant agility had saved him from the first few thrusts of the ridiculously antiquated sword Julien was wielding. Henri had thrown him the matching weapon and they'd commenced a real fight. He wasn't as good with a sword as Julien's assassin training, but with his unpredictable mutant and alcohol enhanced movements, he managed to hold his own. Until Julien had stumbled and he'd miscalculated and the blood staining his sword and the ground was nothing he'd ever intended.**

**He'd fallen to his knees, his still muddled mind not comprehending what had just happened. How his future had been destroyed.**

**He didn't comprehend the yelling that commenced, 'Rippers' taking a step toward while Henri and the other Thieves bitterly blaming Julien for the whole mess. **

**And he didn't comprehend when the headache that had been plaguing his head for days on-and-off, making his eyes itch as badly as his hands, – the headache he'd been assured had to do with his impending nuptials – made the rest of his narrow world turn to fire.**

**Julien wasn't the only one to die that night.**

* * *

"Y' lost control," she breathed, hiding her eyes and it didn't sound like a question. He looked down and wondered with sudden dread just how much of him she'd once absorbed. Could she see the smoldering of that night, feel the bite of acrid alcohol slosh in the back of his throat, smell the burning-

"I got it back," he skipped on. "Got someone t' help me tone down my powers."

He had no intention of telling her who.

So instead, he kissed her hard, trying to lose her, himself in the intensity of the rock of their hips.

There was so much yet to teach her, that was what he had to focus on.

Sex was supposed to be about forgetting, d- it, not remembering; but of course she must torment him.

"Remy," she hissed as she crashed.

Torment him with the taste of secrets, sharing secrets, best left alone, uncared for, unacknowledged.

And yet…

"_Amoureux._"

The lust for more had ever been his greatest vice.

_

* * *

_

She marvels at how he gives her everything, yet nothing at the same time.


	15. Interlude: Date with an Angel

**Um Rogue just found out her 'lover' lost control of his powers (after taking years to conquer them) for unknown reasons and committed multiple homicide, even if accidentally - don't you think she might be just a tad freaked out?**

Thanks to all my readers! Amyln, Forever-Dawn (yay!), lovestoread, Remy'sRose (woah, you're right!), X-Storm, rogue, BladeMaxwell-GoddessofDeath, roguerulez (me too), Captain Annie (cool!), SouthernLoner, allyg1990 (aw...), nuriiko (That admittal will be awhile.), New Moon Night (-blush-)

Coldqueen – "I love that even as their relationship is so adversarial they still can't resist comforting each other." (oh I know - that's the real test of a relationship - and true proof of the depth of caring. **Also, Rogue's p.o.v. will be coming in bits and pieces for awhile**)

Also, someone questioned the practice with Bobby. Kitty mentioned that to get a reaction from Remy - not that it isn't true that Bobby asked, but did Rogue agree? (-author walks away, humming evilly-)

Most fitting quote: wiccamage - "Seems like Gambit's finally getting a real look at what his cards hold for him."

Runner-up: Ishandahalf – "not only are rogue and remy apparently addicted to each other, they both seem to be sort of gambling on what the other's feelings are towards them." (Oh yeah!)

Now here is the interlude – with a hearty dose of the point of views of Kitty and Piotr, a splash of Tabby, a pinch of certain adults, and of course, Remy and Rogue. The song featured is "Mr. Brightside" by Killers.

* * *

It Takes Two...to Practice

* * *

15) Interlude: Date with an Angel

* * *

They were an odd pair: the Russian giant and the Cajun thief. Circumstances had forced their acquaintance – Gambit managed to avoid Sabertooth at every possible turn, for reasons unknown to Piotr, and Pyro…

Privately, Piotr had a suspicion the development of his mutation had manipulated something in John's brain, making him more than a bit off-kilter. His attempt at flaming pancakes still made Piotr shudder.

Piotr, given the options, had stayed to himself mostly, studying, working on his English, and occasionally trying to assuage his homesickness by pouring into his sketchbook. However, in the third week of his residence at Magneto's base, he'd found Gambit playing cards in his room. Piotr hadn't bothered asking how he'd gotten in; it was all he could do to restrain himself from checking if anything had been disturbed. He'd expected the man to probe him with questions, but Gambit had stayed uncharacteristically quiet, playing his cards while Piotr buried his head in a book.

It had become a tradition between them – Gambit popping into Piotr's room sporadically, quietly flipping cards while Piotr continued whatever he was doing. Piotr figured the outgoing man simply wanted some non-crazy company. It was another week before the silent company became quiet, tentative conversations. Two weeks after that, Gambit had coaxed Piotr into going to a bar and finally asked him the question,reclining back in his chair, lazily flicking the ash off his cigarette, his eyes glowing in the semi-darkness.

"**Y' a good **_**homme **_**Piotr. So what's a guy like yah doin' wit' Magneto?"**

Piotr still didn't know why he'd actually told him; perhaps just the fact he'd simply needed a friend. And somehow the whole story of Illya's disappearance, Magneto's involvement, and his unwilling agreement came out. Then he'd asked the question back. Gambit had shrugged, his eyes suddenly shadowed.

"**Got a contract." He snubbed his cigarette. "But ain't no need f' y' tah call mehGambit, dat be de workin' name. Call me Remy." **

And in his edged grin, Piotr had seen a man just as in need of a friend.

* * *

Their tradition continued at the X-mansion. Piotr felt welcome himself, but he was aware of the suspicion Remy was viewed with – and he made sure to always lock his door, a rather unusual invitation but one Remy would understand.

And so it came to be that day.

It had been a while – for some reason, Remy had been preoccupied for the past few weeks, too restless to calmly seat himself on Piotr's floor. Piotr had been getting concerned; everytime he'd seen him lately Remy had been tense (Piotr had learned to read it in the set of his shoulders) and upset (his sarcasm always became more venomous then). But he was patient and he would not press; Remy simply would not give information he did not volunteer.

Remy shuffled his cards again, setting up for a Solitaire game. Piotr had long-ago realized the games were simply a way for his friend to busy his hands while his mind was busy working. It was possible the motions were soothing as well – he himself often found himself doodling mindlessly when listening to a lecture.

Remy looked up, flashing him a grin.

"So de kit-kat finally got up de nerve t' ask yah out?" he snorted. "'Bout time she figu'ed out y' ain't de type tah make de first move."

Piotr flushed. "It izn't a date. She ahsked me as ah friend to celebrate the removal ouf her cast–"

"Which happened a week ago," Remy muttered.

"It's zhust about Halloveen, so it's a tyuo-in-vone celebration." Piotr blustered on, "Besidez, she has a boy-friend."

"Dey on de rocks again," Remy snorted, his lips curling into a smirk. "No pun intended."

"It iz not a date."

The other man rolled his eyes at the stubborn insistence and splayed his hands. "Let meh figure dat out. Got more experience, _hein_?" Piotr reluctantly nodded. "Where yah goin'?"

"Ah club."

Remy laughed out loud, throwing his head back before smirking at Piotr, who defensively crossed his arms over his wide chest. He counted on his fingers, "Y' dress up, dance and dere might be alcohol involved – dat's a date."

Piotr was not willing to concede his point. "It iz not like ve're going alone. Rogue and Varren are coming tyuo."

Remy's hand froze half-way to placing a card down. "Warren?"

Piotr nodded, eying him carefully. "You maeght remember hem?" Remy's time spent mind-controlled was a touchy subject. "Angel," he prompted.

"Oh." Remy deliberately continued lying down cards, all the humor gone from his face. He'd retreated to his poker face and that was never a good thing – and Piotr had to wonder if it was due to Angel or whatever his friend had going on with Rogue. He didn't know what it was, but he was far from oblivious. The card-playing mutant's interactions with the girl had ranged from crackling hot to downright frigid in the past few weeks.

"You hahdn't heard?" he still asked.

Remy gave a grim edged grin. "Somehow Remy be de last t' hear dese t'ings."

* * *

Kitty had come to accept some things about her roommate. She didn't flirt or fuss over her wardrobe too much, she tended to avoid people whenever possible, and she considered the ability to touch one of the greatest gifts one could have.

The past few weeks, however, threatened all these assumptions. For instance, Rogue was currently attacking her closet with a passion Kitty had only ever mustered on her worst hair days, when she was counting on her most flattering outfit to rescue the day.

After dodging a pair of black dress pants, Kitty decided it was time for some assistance. Rogue just kept pushing clothes aside and muttering. "How 'bout this skirt?" She leaned in and tugged the long black skirt that she knew had a very flattering high slit.

"No!" Rogue snatched the skirt out of her grasp.

"O-kay," Kitty drew out, backing up in confusion. Since when was Rogue so wound up over dressing?

"No black," Rogue said finally.

"But, it's like Halloween, I thought you'd like go as y'know Gothic," Kitty eyed her nervously.

"And fit in?" Rogue finished dryly. Her fists clenched as she looked away. "No, besides – maybe it's time for a change."

Kitty bit her lip as Rogue stared into her mirror, the skirt still pressed to her.

_

* * *

_

I'm coming out of my cage

_And I've been doing just fine_

_Gotta, gotta be down_

_Because I want it all_

_It started out with a kiss_

_How did it end up like this_

* * *

There were a few things Tabitha had had to accept when she rejoined the X-Men: more rules, more expectations and supervision, fewer opportunities for fun. However, given the sheer number of co-eds in the mansion, there was a massive source of one form of entertainment: observing the romantic interaction.

Lately, this scene, especially of the older students, had been seriously active.

Scott and Jean, of course, were being sickeningly sappy after Scott's classical proposal. It had been amusing to see Scott sweat up the courage to actually ask her though. As if he actually thought she was going to say no.

Kitty and Lance were officially on break while Lance considered his future outside of further education, and Kitty seemed to be eying up the hulky Russian with more than admiration. Tabby hadn't been witness to the developing closeness between them over Kitty's broken leg, but now that Kitty had moved from his immediate vicinity, she was making a more obvious attempt to continue it. – And a rather obvious attempt to make it more.

And then there was Rogue. Tabby wasn't sure what exactly was going on there, but watching her and Remy go at it was like watching a lava lamp. They'd started up slowly, then gotten hotter and more colorful over time. But then someone had pulled the plug – only to break the glass and let all the lava flow free. Since Gambit's return, they'd been quieter, but Tabby could tell when something was up. And something was definitely going on there.

Put Rogue on a double-date with the rich 'Angel'? Oh sparks were so going to fly.

That double-date was just begging to be crashed.

Now, all she needed was a ride. Her lips turned into a smirk as the perfect candidate strode into the room. She sidled up to him.

"Hey Remy boy."

The fellow energy-charger immediately slid into ease. "Yeah Tabby-cat?"

"Y'know I need to get outta here and get some air, stretch my legs," she winked at him as he looked on amused. She fiddled with the button edge of his shirt, "Anyway you might be headin' out tonight?"

"Where d'yah want t' get?"

"Oh, just a club."

His eyes narrowed, or so she assumed behind the glasses he wore. Looked like he had sensitive eyes today – she could only _wonder_ why. "Not de same club dat de kit-kat and de Rogue be heading, by any chance?"

Her eyes widen innocently. "You read my mind!" Remy hesitated. Tabby felt like calling him out, but this looked like it was going to take some delicacy. "Oh c'mon, it'll be fun – and that is the sweetest club in town."

"Y' really want ta crash dat date?"

Tabby raised an eyebrow, unable to resist. "Don't you?"

With perfect timing, Rogue and Kitty passed by the doorway, chatting over something inane about their dates that night. His face darkened.

"Why not?"

* * *

Xavier watched them drive from his window that night, Logan pacing the floor behind him, waiting for the outburst.

"What the hell do they think they're doing?!" His old friend was far too predictable. Logan strode up to the window next to him in time to see a motorcycle sped out of the garage, going up on one wheel. He growled. Xavier sighed.

"I am sorry Logan; I know I've put you in a difficult situation."

Logan's fists flexed. "We never should've let them start this!"

Xavier steppled his hands, knowing it was time for yet another empty list of his reasons. "She was bound to do it either now or later. At least this way there was someway to keep a tab on her and her partner. If I had talked to her about it-" he felt the regret sharply, but refused to give it voice. "-if she had gone elsewhere due to an action or discussion on my part, it could've been disastrous."

Logan crossed his arms, his body drawing together as he stared into the night. "I tried to talk to her about it. When I caught her sneaking out of his room-" His throat tightened at the memory – her eyes coming to meet his shocked, ashamed, then defiant when she realized he'd known; he'd known ever since the beginning.

* * *

"**Oh and now you have something to say about it?" **

"**Stay away from him."**

**"Y'know what, make me." Her eyes had glittered in mocking. "Oh right, you won't – because it's my decision!"**

* * *

"I can smell him on her," Logan muttered, his body relaxing incrementally in vulnerability. "She washes it off, but- it's in too deep."

"I didn't foresee this," Xavier murmured feeling a decade older as the tail-lights disappeared into the darkness. "I suppose I overestimated the feasibility of a real relationship between them. They just have so much potential-"

Logan snorted, finally turning away from the window. "You see too much damn potential in everyone Chuck." Xavier shook his head, but without truly arguing. "So what now? We just leave 'em to figure it out?"

Xavier wheeled himself to face Logan. "Honestly, after seeing them apart-" he looked up into Wolverine's eyes.

"I'm afraid to come between them."

* * *

Rogue looked fine. The blue and green striped dress curved subtly around her figure, hinting rather than emphasizing her curves. The stripes separated at her shoulder, fluttering more loosely with sheer mesh connecting them, to re-meet at her wrist. They fluttered freely at her knees, where tights instead provided safety. It looked nice even.

But it wasn't Rogue.

This girl, with the light pastel makeup, with the smile that stayed a moment too long, who let her date put his arm around her waist, who didn't wear gloves and laughed a shade too high – wasn't Rogue. This girl matched her brand-name wearing date, who had the toothpaste commercial grin, elegant manners, and the self-consciousness of a winged hero.

But he didn't match the real Rogue, the one whose strange clone was demurely letting Warren help her take off her coat.

And that troubled Kitty more than she could say.

And because of her close surveillance, she saw when Rogue tensed – and a moment later, she saw why as the entrance flew open.

"Boom-badda-bing-badda-Boom is here!" Tabby was never one for a subtle entrance. Her arms were thrown out as if embracing the entire crowd, her sparkling silver halter top nearly blinding as the club lights reflected. Remy, on the other hand, was dressed in non-showy all black that perfectly suit him. A small gold chain glittered from around his neck. Rogue, almost unnoticeably, inched backward, closer to Warren. Tabby's eyes fell on them and she went into a spasm of fake surprise. "Oh my god. What are you guys going here!"

"I'll bet it's a surprise," Rogue muttered, as if to make up for her retreat.

Remy's reaction was calmer; he just nodded at them. "Petey. Kit-kat. Rogue." His eyes barely touched on her before focusing in on her date. "And y' must be d'_ange_." He smiled with too many teeth.

Warren drew himself up, stiffening. "Warren Worthington," he said coldly. Neither man offered a hand for a handshake.

"Hmmm," Remy drew out the sound, fingers coming up to tap his chin. "Sounds like dere be a number wit' dat name."

Warren didn't blush. "The third."

Remy's eyes glinted. "Oh – bet one et _deux_ have pretty big shoes ta fill." Warren's eyes narrowed, but before he could respond, Tabby stepped between them offering a hand.

"And I'm Tabby," as they shook, Tabby gave him an appraising smile. "Nice call Rogue."

Rogue looked like she was about to be sick. "I need to go to the bathroom." She didn't wait for a response, turning on her heel and nearly fleeing to the restroom. Kitty was only two steps, leaving Piotr alone with two males facing off and an appreciative Tabitha.

"Better go with them, though I hate to miss this testosterone fest;" Tabby looked obviously between Warren and Remy, then winked at both, "but y'know us girls, gotta go in herds." She bee-lined after Rogue.

Piotr uneasily glanced between them – he could separate them without a problem, but using powers in public was never a great idea. Remy's eyes weren't on Warren though, but on one particular girl as his smile faded. Warren glared, aware of his gaze.

"So Gambit," his tone was icy, eyes narrowing. "I remember you… Looks like you have your eye on something of mine – again."

Remy slid on a smirk. "Least I know enough to know she ain't yours." Warren's shoulders flexed and Remy clucked his tongue, stepping into Warren's personal space.

"Woul'n't show dose wings in here, FlyBoy – don't know how they'd deal wit' a real angel," his tone was slick with mocking as he then brushed by his competition.

Instead of following the girls however, he headed in the direction of the bar, his mood souring with every step. What had he thought coming here would accomplish? Watching her be comfortable with another man – he didn't want to care, but seeing the proof he wasn't her type just made his teeth grind.

He ordered a drink at the bar before he realized he still had an edge on _Warren_. She still wanted him and thanks to her bathroom rush, she was separated from her date for the moment.

"Here you go."

He threw back the bourbon with the air of a parachuter readying himself for the jump. Liquid courage. Since when had he ever needed it?

* * *

"Ah just need a minute, okay?" It was too vehement to be actually pleading, but it was as close as she could get.

Kitty, idling in front of the stall door, relented. "Okay. I'm going to go back to the guys; don't want them to feel abandoned." Rogue didn't respond and Kitty blew out a breath.

Tabby, leaning against the bathroom wall, snorted. "What with the pissing contest, I bet they didn't even notice we were gone." Rogue shot her eyes, feeling her stomach roil.

Kitty shot her a look, but Tabby just gave an innocent shrug. "We'll be waiting by the entrance," Kitty said instead, before reluctantly moving out of the bathroom, dragging Tabby behind her.

Rogue waited for long seconds until she was sure they were gone, before unhitching the door. She walked to the sink and put her hands down on it, arms stiff, as if the cool tile could possibly ground her. Her head tilted down and she took deep, cleansing breaths. But finally her face came up.

She looked in the mirror. She stared at her pale, bare face and wished desperately for her thick Gothic makeup.

She tried to think of Warren, dashing, courteous, rich Warren.

But all she could think of was Scott's bare hands, just like Warren's.

Void of scars.

* * *

She was only three steps from the bathroom when she was pounced on and hauled into the shadows. She opened her mouth to protest, but her body was already buzzing with awareness and his lips ravaged her mouth. He tilted her head back and wrapped himself around her like an octopus suctioning unto dinner. And she was lost in the touch – until they parted to take a breath and she could taste the alcohol bitter against the lining of her throat.

"Are you drunk?" she hissed, still a little disoriented. "Because y'ain't getting' any action like this!"

"That a new rule?" he sneered, still too bitter and angry and jealous to be gentle.

"Yeah. Besides ah'm here on a date!" She stiffened against him with awareness, a flush settling in her bare cheeks – and he felt a burn in his chest at the fact another would be witness to it, the inspiration for it.

He gripped her hips tighter, angling his face close to hers. "Oh but _le diable_ be more _amusement_, _hein_?" he said throatily. Her eyes flashed and she pushed him away.

"Maybe I don't want the devil!" She stared him defiantly in the eye and –

She doesn't want to want him and the knowledge burns like acid.

He let go and she hurried away.

* * *

"I know what's your trouble." The bartender grinned with the wisdom of seeing a thousand relational dramas play out every night.

"What?" Remy snapped from his slump over the bar, nursing another drink.

"You're in love." The bartender didn't even bother to look up, just kept cleaning the mug he held.

The string of words is dumbfounding from a man who barely knew him. "Remy don't fall in love," he insisted.

The idea isn't a new one, but – he's not ready to go there. Love has been a game for too long for him to lose so easily.

The bartender started humming the 'Mission Impossible' theme song.

Remy hated bartenders with a sense of humor.

He looked away, over his shoulder, and saw Rogue's bare hand brush Warren's as the man led her out to dance – and his stomach tightened even more. He needed a distraction.

_

* * *

_

And I just can't look its killing me

_And taking control_

_Jealousy, turning saints into the sea_

_Swimming through sick lullabies_

* * *

He was fun.

Reserved, yes, but Kitty had figured out during her time of convalescence that Piotr preferred to say things of meaning. He didn't like feeling pressured to speak, especially when he was already nervous, but he'd listen very intently to the inane chatter she was prone to – and remember.

What really was hotter than a guy who actually remembered what you griped about the week before and asked how it was going now?

His nervousness and self-consciousness was cute; his lack of awareness over his sweetness downright heart pit-patter material. His concern for his friend, for Remy, was equally touching – though unnerving as she realized she'd been right all along about the disturbing consequences of whatever Rogue and Remy were doing. Except she didn't want to think about that – not with a cute Russian who she really didn't want to see frowning worriedly all night and a best friend who was currently on the dance floor with another man as the other and his 'date' had disappeared into the crowd. Tonight was for fun, not chewing lips out of ignorant concerned speculation – or giving a thought to her moody ex-boyfriend.

So instead she eased the stiffness out of Piotr by going to dance, taking the lead and getting him to laugh. And once loosened, his comments on other people's outfits (he definitely had an artist's eye – and man, what she would give to see in that notebook of hers) provided plenty of fodder for conspiratorial smiles or mock-heated debates.

She was so engrossed in fact, that she didn't listen to her leg's complaining until she nearly nose-dived into the booth they were about to sit down in for a break. She swore.

"Katya?" It was amazing that even while she was in pain, his nickname made her blush.

"I'm fine," she said at once, but not moving from the sprawled position of bracing her body with a hand on the back of the seat and the table. He tentatively wrapped an arm around her middle and helped her into the booth. She smiled reassuringly up to him. "I guess my leg is still a bit wobbly."

Piotr only looked half-convinced. A whistle sounded by them and Kitty was surprised to see Tabby had appeared out of nowhere.

"Looked like you were about to qualify for a nose job there," she said, before a grin settled on her face. "'s funny. You save the world and then find tubs and club booths a leg-breaking challenge."

Kitty glared, but Piotr's eyes immediately flew to her lower leg.

"It iz still in vone piece, _ja_?"

"Of course it is!" She sprang up to demonstrate, only to end up listing to one side as her leg wavered under the pressure. Piotr caught her with a frown as Tabby snickered. "Erm, maybe I should stay off it."

"Are you okay Kitty?" Wonderful – another spectator witness to her mortification. She covered her face with her hands, grateful for Piotr's full support.

"I'm fine Rogue."

"I zink we should head back to the Mansion," Piotr said firmly. Kitty looked up immediately.

"But it's so early!" The protest was ignored. It was only then, looking around for sympathy, that Kitty noticed Rogue's hard face – the face of the real Rogue in true distemper.

"Can I go with? My ride ditched me," Tabby said casually, avoiding looking in Rogue's direction.

"I'm ready to leave." Rogue had the tenseness in her voice that only came from suppressed anger. Kitty had only to look behind her, her eyes automatically searching out their last teammate from the crowd - and she spotted an all-too-familiar trench coat-clad figure making out with a curvy blond against a wall. Her heart lurched for Rogue.

Warren, however, was not so observant.

"Where's your friend, Gambit right?"

"Probably trashed somewhere, ready on his next conquest," the comment was acidic – but Kitty bit her lip. She doubted she was the only one to hear the undercurrent of bitterness there. Her eyes slipped over to Rogue's date, just in time to see him force a tight frown from his face. And suddenly, she felt bad for Warren, caught up in the middle of this tangle.

"I guess we're all going," he said.

They gathered up their coats and Piotr hovered over the limping Kitty like the overprotective sweetheart he was, making her melt just a little.

"Iv your leg haz too much pain, I could carry you," he said, with a wrinkle between his eyes.

Kitty's eyes flew to his solid biceps involuntarily. "Oh, I bet," she murmured.

"Vhat?" She snapped back to attention, her cheeks flushing hotly.

"I'm fine," she reassured him once again, turning away in embarrassment to fuss over the buttons of her jacket. She glanced down just in time to see Rogue slip on winter gloves beside her.

Rogue caught her looking. "It's cold out," she snapped defensively.

Kitty didn't say anything. But Rogue hadn't worn gloves on the way there.

_

* * *

_

It was only a kiss, it was only a kiss

_Now I'm falling asleep_

_And she's calling a cab_

_While he's having a smoke_

_And she's taking a drag_

--_Now they're going to bed_

_And my stomach is sick_

_And it's all in my head_

_But she's touching his-chest_

_Now, he takes off her dress_

_Now, letting me go_

* * *

"Warren, thanks for the nice time. It was really nice to go out with someone."

"The pleasure was all mine Rogue. You looked pretty tonight."

He imagined her blush, the rose curling up her cheeks to off-set her deathly pale.

"Doubt it's what most people imagine when they think of dressing up for Halloween."

"Since when is that a bad thing?" Mutual smiles there, no doubt. "You know, I would look forward to doing this again next time I'm in town."

"Warren, ah…" She lapsed into silence and he felt like shaking, shaking every single answer out of her until he could just, just – his hands flexed – just nothing.

He wasn't an imperialist, sticking around, shaping a conquest into exactly what he wanted; he was a conquistador, looting then departing. Only this time, he couldn't get himself to leave the f-ing city alone.

"No pressure Rogue. Perhaps we could keep in contact and see what happens?"

"Warren, ah'm just learning how to touch. Ah, ah'm not ready for a relationship."

Silence – had he nodded? Smiled understandingly? Or had he frowned? Given disappointed puppy eyes? Not knowing drove Remy just a little bit madder, but he didn't dare move from his position poised on the staircase out of sight.

"How 'bout I just settle for a small demonstration?"

He could imagine the cheesy, teasing smile – the light blush on her face but determined look in her eyes and the leaning up on tiptoe to press her lips –

He wasn't a masochist.

And the thief made his escape, plans already coalescing in his head.

"Warren, thanks for understanding." She sent a tight smile up to him. He nodded, his face troubled and carefully gripped her wrist.

"Just – be careful Rogue."

She stiffened at the implications, at the way he stared directly into her eyes with that stupid worried expression.

"I can handle myself," she brushed him off frostily and headed to her room.

* * *

Remy closed his eyes as he sat on his bed, cards already shuffling in hand.

Damn her.

**

* * *

**

She caught him watching them out of the corner of his eye.

**The blond sighed, stepping away from him. "All the good guys **_**are**_** gay or taken," she muttered under her breath before nodding in Rogue's direction. "So what is she? An ex or potential?"**

**Remy ran a hand through his hair. "**_**Non**_**," he said, then gave up, "'s complicated."**

**He watched as Warren helped Rogue put on her coat, her sliding into it and practically into his embrace.**

**Would she come to him tonight? He hated the fact she could out like this and still – what, expect him? She'd never limited his activities – '**_**Yah mine tanight'**_**. At the time, he'd seen it as a triumph, a sign he was getting to her. He'd kill to hear her say it again…**

**The woman patted him on the chest, "Oh don't worry. You're hotter than him, hellova kisser–" the lights overhead lit on Warren's watch and sharp suit as he held the door open for Rogue to leave, "ooh looks like he's got money." Remy scowled and the blond gave a sheepish smile. "Sorry, not helping. Well," she gave him one last pat, "good luck." With a generous grin, she made her way back into the crowd.**

**The decision to follow Rogue instead wasn't even one of conscious thought.**

* * *

She came in sweats and a T-shirt, reminding him once more – she didn't dress for him. The knowledge that she had once, just made the fact more bitter.

She looked at him, lounging against the headboard, dressed only in his flaming card boxers. The gold chain still dangled around his neck, but the rest of the night's finery was gone. There was a card between his fingers and she watched as he gracefully let it fly, to neatly land in the cap he'd scrounged from somewhere. He didn't look up, just watched the card land.

She walked toward him, all casual but without sexual poise, until she very deliberately threw one leg over his waist and straddled him.

He allowed it.

"Mind what yah heard?" she asked him, her eyes intent on his face. She hung over him, her breasts tight against her shirt, low to his chest as she braced herself on the bed.

But Gambit had played this game more than once. In this ring, he was the master and she, she was a mere novice.

"Nona m' business," he said with a little shrug. She stared at him and, his empathy circled her like an eagle with eyes on prey, he could feel the wash of disappointment – but she closed her eyes and kissed him and he let her work her will.

He wasn't done with her.

He'd put her together, and now he was going to fucking pull her apart – like pulling the wings off a butterfly.

It's no longer a game.

This is war.

_

* * *

_

The taste of betrayal – she wondered if it had a taste, because for some reason all she could think is that was exactly what the kiss tasted like. Only she wasn't sure whose flavored it.

_

* * *

_

Choking on your alibis

_But it's just the price I pay_

* * *

Kitty curled up in her pajamas and sighed. She looked over to Rogue's side.

"I hope you know what you're doing Rogue."

She spoke to an empty bed.


	16. Spiraling

So how much does Kitty know? Well, she knows Rogue's sneaking out at night – and that she and Remy are having major tension. Honestly, I think she would be trying not to come to conclusions. Anyway, her and Piotr – shy guys are so much fun, especially when you can contrast with Remy's flamboyancy. (Also, to the complaint he sounded like Kurt, I did research for his accent. And German and Russian struggle with some of the same sounds.)

I'm turning you all into masochists!! Or so I've heard complaints – but why do you keep reading? Because you really think love can triumph, that love is worth it. So we're all love masochists. And Remy is subject to that, even if he's pissed off right now…

Thanks y'all!

lovestoread, twinbuster2, dreamschemer (dun,nuh-na,nuh-na), X-Storm, Comic Chick396, wiccamage (he's about to...), mazdamiatta (devil - well, he did say it first, le diable), cream tea anyone, thesupernugget (erm lol!), ishandahalf, Loralee X5-214, allyg1990 (thanks - they are cute!), DannyPhantomFan06, ShadowFax999 (erm, sorry? -blink, blink- a clone?), Delphine, roguerulez (By this point, they're practically oblivious of others), SouthernLoner, coldqueen, animefan135, New Moon Night (lol)

Chica De Los Ojos Café – lol! I'm honored! "I want them together, but I want the drama, but I want them to be happy too. I want it all and luckily for me, your writing provides me with all! Hehe, unfortunately for Rogue and Remy, though, it means more hell and rings of fire to jump through. Oh well, they're idiots in love, what do they really expect?" LOL!

flaming-mod – thanks. "I can't wait to see where the angst parade stops and they decide to retrieve back their temper and stubbornness soldiers- easy to say, hard to achieve."

Best short review goes to Cory!

"This is angst crack (addicting and angsty as hell). They were never meant to have a simple relationship, were they:)" LOL!

Okay, so this chapter is a tad short, but next chapter – action is kicking up!! –smirk- LYRICS: Maroon 5's_** Makes Me Wonder **_and John Legend's_ Once Again._

* * *

16) Spiraling

* * *

Gambit had been used for many things in his life.

He'd been used for assigned jobs since he could walk. Since his adoption by the thief royalty of LeBeaus, he'd been used for heists, his connections, to make a peace treaty, to fill contracts. He'd been used for his powers – in general, they'd been viewed by the thieves as a bonus. His eyes' sensitivity to lasers, his agility, the explosive capacity, even his apparent charm; they all simply made him a better thief. They perhaps were the only ones to view them so positively, but – he appreciated that at least, especially since he had come to live alone in the outside world.

And he had used others.

Women for sex, inside information, connections, entertainment, distraction. Men for jobs, releasing aggression, some quick cash, back-up, escape. In many cases, it was mutual. You scratch my back, I'll scratch yours. It was simple, business-like, the way the world operated. Using was the only way to make a place for yourself – and being used an inevitable price you paid.

He'd had to accept that, especially after Genny…

But this, having Rogue so close, her thighs under his bare palms, his devil eyes bare to her green gaze, interlocked with only a gasp and sweat between them – and yet knowing it was simply that – being used, a convenience – was like letting him caress a top-grade emerald knowing it could never be removed from around the one whose throat displayed it, possessed it.

There was no accomplishment and whatever he had been using her for, food for his ego, an object for his curiosity, his insatiable greed, his own pleasure, now paled at what had become of their arrangement.

She'd ended it once; he had the same capability. He could deny her, turn away from her deep eyes, laugh at her inexperience, show her just what he thought about being a toy.

But he couldn't.

For if one can't have the reality, at least the illusion let him pretend for a while – and for breathless moments, he had her.

**_Feels so good to be bad_**

**_Not worth the aftermath, after that_**

**_After that_**

**_Try to get you back_**

But he revenged himself – in her flesh.

That night he told her of Bella, the first, the only woman he had ever loved.

He sketched her blond hair into brunette looks, blue pools in green forests, plush curves over svelte bends, abundant breasts over handful mounds.

He whispered their first meeting, the headiness of their first love, his first kiss into her skin, then spanned its length with murmurs of the kisses after, his first time, the women after, coating her shuddering skin with the echoes of his past intimacies.

The blond bombshell Cindy with the fantastic tongue, the buxom redhead Rochelle who loved eating in bed, the violet-eyed Sherin who'd pop up every few months for a tumble – and Naqueta who had actually been able to name and perform over ten maneuvers from the Kama Sutra. And numerous others.

Sometimes they were nameless, faceless; just places or blurs of memories, an early morning stumbling out of a room he didn't know how he'd gotten into – and he wondered how many it'd really been.

She said nothing in reply, only her own secrets, but…

She can't help the half-cringe, the turning of her face away, the shadows beginning to form under her tired eyes, and he laps at the edgings of her shame, despair and anger like a wounded wolf – even as he draws her into orgasm again, stretching her limbs and his in the contortions of experience, making her hover at the edge of pain and pleasure yet again, drawing it out so delicately until she comes with an intensity that even makes him shudder.

Rogue wants him, thief, slut, murderer that he is – he damns her with that knowledge.

And if he can't just leave, damn it, neither can she.

**_

* * *

_**

She can't tell if he is trying to repulse her or make her as obsessed about him as he is about her.

**_He needn't have bothered._**

_

* * *

_

so we did it again

_knowing we should quit it, but we simply won't admit it again_

_oh it feels good, it's so good, but I won't do it again_

_it's so dramatic again_

They were fighting again; he couldn't even remember what had started it. A flip of her hair, a scornful eye roll, a simpering comment that she just hadn't been able to let pass.

"Can't find any betta place ta drag y' worthless carcass?"

Instead of listening to the words, he read the tension in her shoulders, the distracted flick of her eyes to his fingers when he flexed them, and smirked.

"Yah know what I t'ink?" he gave a pause, drawing out the moment and she clenched her mouth. "Y' need to get laid," it was a smoky voice, deliberately intended for her ears only, so the Boy Scout by her didn't flip out.

For a moment, the shock made her slack, green kaleidoscoping at the audacity, before the tension raced up her body again and her arms crossed, defensively he noted with amusement. It's all too ironic and he let his smirk remain.

And any audience faded away.

"Fuck you," she spat out, all rigid and sharp angles – and for a second, he wanted to just smooth her out, lax like taffy with the ease he had in the darkness of the night – but he ignored the moment of weakness.

"Actually," he drawled, letting his eyes meander down her figure, "wit' all that tension down there," he let his gaze linger at the join of her hips and the pale of her cheeks burned, "bet you could really make me _saute_." (pop)

He didn't anticipate the violence of her reaction, but he read the sudden coil in her arm and managed to catch the punch, locking it with his twining hands inches from his jaw. She tensed further.

"Get a floozy to do it," she hissed, her impotent rage magnifying with every moment she can't escape his grasp.

He tugged her closer, making her awkwardly stretch forward, her arm now looked under his, their faces inches apart. Remy contemplated her face, her resistance. "You don't show up t'night, I will."

It wasn't a threat or a joke, a lie? – not even he knew. Rogue froze against him for a complete minute, her heart beat throbbing against the thumb affixed to her wrist. She turned away finally with a tight motion, her face blank.

"Let go of me Gambit!" He stared at her and wished he could.

"That's enough!" And Scott separated them. "What is wrong with you two?"

He looked between them, but neither said a word.

_after we go at it, we get mad then we go at it again_

_oh I love it, then I hate it, she's my favorite again_

He ambushed her in one of the back hallways, minutes after the youngsters filed into a training session with 'Joseph', the older kids going out for either dates or mall shopping. Unsurprisingly, Rogue had declined all invitations to tag along.

"Wha' da hell?" she hissed, twisting in his arms. But he had her backed up against the wall, pinning her with his larger body.

"What y' do if yah boyfriend can't wait," he rumbled feverishly, needing the thrill, needing her under his hands, "afta seein' y' so feisty and delectable," his fingers were going up her thigh and she swallowed, eyes wide upon his face. But submission was never so easy.

"He wouldn't-" she said unsteadily.

"Y' wanna bet?" he pushed up against her and her body shuddered as she felt his arousal. Burning his eyes into her, he refused to let her look away – and they hung suspended in the surreal non-existent space between practice and reality. Frozen. Her face lay open and flushed before him and he couldn't wait for the confusion in her face to clear, not if it will mean facing… "Trust me?" he breathed, his fingers reached the lining of her underwear.

Her eyes looked like another planet filled with more life than his own.

He crossed the line, but she didn't say no, her eyes just full in his own, her body arching into his as he maps the territory he has gotten to know well.

He knows the exact bend of her hips, the exact crook of his fingers necessary, the exact moment she feels his entrance, the groan she can't suppress, the increasing pressure of her fingers as he leans into her, the flutter of her eyes as she rides the swell of her rising pleasure, the exact way to twist to make her jerk and gasp – this he knows, only him, so well that it almost feels like it's his alone. That this act, this moment, Rogue in her flushing, gasping, sinuous hair-tussled glory – was his.

Possession.

And then she crashed up against him, kissing him as he took her surrender.

__

I can't invite her again

_'cause she'll go from a lover to a fighter_

_and I'll fight her again_

* * *

Remy could only be contained by the same four walls for so long – and one night, after Rogue's exit, he just needed to get out of there. His apartment in the city was too far a drive; there was an early team practice the next morning with 'Joseph.' The mere thought gave him a bad taste in his mouth, but revving his bike, his options were limited and he wasn't surprised to find himself in front of the Brotherhood house.

He could count on a spare bed there, even if he'd never taken advantage of the, er, open invitation previously.

Unlike others, he slept well in new locations, if lightly. In his line of work, both skills were necessary and despite what those at the Mansion said sneeringly, he only ever slept late in places he felt safe.

Except apparently, his situation with Rogue had taken more out of him than he expected…because he awoke to the sound of her voice.

"Look, just ansa the question! Is the mud-sucking swamp rat hea or not?"

He couldn't hear the response, but he took his cue, sauntering down the stairs already fully clothed. "Righ' here _chere_. Miss m' much?"

Her eyes snapped to him without humor as he leaned against the banister.

"What are yah doin' here?" she demanded, picking her way through the trashy room, her distaste clear. Seemed like her time at Xavier's had made her fussy. "Yah weren't even part of the Brothahood."

"You were."

Reaching him, her sharp eyes examined him, seeking the reason underneath the riddle.

"What does that have ta do with anything?" He gave a shrug, withdrawing a cigarette to light up.

Taking a lingering puff, he caught her displeased frown. "Don't see us at de Manor," he defended himself reflexively, "ain't no kiddies t' corrupt here."

Rogue rolled her eyes and turned away, automatically focusing on Lance.

"So how's Kitty doing?" Lance asked, with poorly feigned indifference. Rogue shifted her stance, obviously reluctant to reveal Kitty's obvious re-aligned interest.

"Fahne. How 'bout you guys?" she looked around, quickly changing the subject. Fred snored from the bowed couch, untroubled by the intrusions into the house. Todd stood in another doorway upstairs, his hair messy as he tiredly put a hand through it, though grinning.

"Yo, we're good Roguey."

"Yeah, we're just fine," Lance said bitterly and Remy raised an eyebrow. Belatedly, he wondered exactly who was paying their bills now that Mystique had disappeared and Magneto had turned to the side of light.

"Wanda and Pietro not around?" Rogue asked. Lance's hand immediately fisted and the house rumbled ominously. The ceiling, already been subjected to a number of similar quakes and explosions, crackled as sizable pieces of plaster detaching. Remy cursed, in a swift motion extending his bo staff to shield himself and Rogue, whom he tugged to his side with an arm around her waist, dropping his cigarette. Todd ping-ponged down the stairs to the more secure kitchen. Fred let out a snore, shifting to let a fist-sized piece of plaster slide off his arm.

"Yo man, watch it!" There was another mutter from the kitchen that sounded awfully like, 'an' it wasn't like cuddledums was that bad' – but Remy preferred to chalk that up to his imagination.

"Watch it rock boy," he narrowed his eyes.

Lance crossed his arms, angrily muttering about a card – most likely the little exploding one he'd lobbed into the room to confirm his right to crash there the previous night. Remy regretfully stubbed his smoldering cigarette on the carpet. He didn't let go of Rogue.

"I'll take that as a yes," Rogue muttered.

"Guess they didn't want to stick around the new and improved Magneto," he countered idly, ignoring the glare she threw his way. Oh, of course, she thought _Joseph_ deserved another chance. Unconsciously, he gripped her a little tighter.

Lance eyed them suspiciously. "So I heard you're getting control of y'know, touching," he said casually enough. Rogue nodded.

"Ah'm workin' on it," she said vaguely. Discussing her progress made her edgy, Remy had noticed, and he stroked the strip of skin exposed by her shirt.

"Um hmm," he affirmed. She relaxed incrementally until she realized exactly where Lance's eyes were. There was a snicker from the kitchen from which Todd peeked out.

A slap came down on the hand. "Stop it, Grabby," she said sharply, immediately moving away from him – but he could tell she had forgotten he was touching her and he smirked. Lance's 'innocent' question only increased her fluster.

"Are you two dating?"

"No!" Her vehemence was overstated and she deliberately went on with less heat. "I should think you'd know ah got betta taste," darkened green eyes looked back at Remy with unreadable eyes. "Ah'm smart enough to actually read warnin' labels." Her gaze was intense and it took him a moment to realize she was also holding up a cigarette pack – his brand. It was then he noticed his lightened pocket. Unbelievable.

His eyebrow cocked in perfected nonchalance. "Gotta an addiction yah ain't sharin' _chérie_?"

Rogue snorted before deliberately turning her back, striding over to the overflowing garbage can and dropping the pack in. "Not likely." She looked back at him in challenge. "Now move it. We're late."

And she turned her back on him and walked out – leaving him no choice but to follow, a hand flicking down to retrieve his pack as he did so.

**_

* * *

_**

I still don't have the reason

**_And you don't have the time_**

**_And it really makes me wonder_**

**_If I ever gave a f- about you_**

* * *

The two men watched the video from the morning's training session in silent contemplation, picking out areas of improvement mentally.

The one standing sighed, watching as Cyclops' hand automatically went to his visor when Joseph came into view, distracting him from the lasers pingponging the room – and that he was supposed to be deflecting for his teammates. A shriek came from Shadowcat who thankfully phased in time, but drew Cyclops' head back into the game.

"They don't trust me," he stated the obvious.

"Give it some time Erik." He let Charles say it without correction as he had never said it with distrust. "You can only expect so much out-of-hand."

"I need to prove myself elsewhere," he disagreed. "And honestly Charles," he reflexively glanced at the wall, as if expecting a window rather than the steel paneling of the control booth of the Danger Room. "I can only stay within these walls for so long. I can't show my face outside in case of recognition…" he lingered.

"You've decided to take up Moira's offer then?" Charles asked with an air of resignation. Scotland – it was secluded and hardly the weather he preferred, but ideal for his situation; McTaggert wasn't one to hold grudges. He nodded.

Joseph looked back at the video, which now displayed the end of the simulation, his eye catching on the pair exchanging unheard terse words, one smirking, the other with arms defensively crossed.

"I would watch those two Charles," he said suddenly. Charles' eyes flicked, but he maintained a blank expression.

"Oh?" he murmured.

"Gambit has shown a particular interest in Rogue as long as he's been in my employment." Joseph couldn't help recalling the matter of the missing security tapes – Gambit had acted quickly once they'd been shown to Charles.

"You think that is dangerous for her?"

He shrugged. "Rogue is nothing if not strong-willed. If anyone could handle his tricks, it would be her."

"And him?"

He finally shot Charles a look, taking in the composed manner. Obviously the head of the Manor knew more about the situation. But it was no longer his concern and he let it go. "He's a womanizer Charles, I'm sure I don't have to tell you that. But otherwise, I don't know. He seems invested in her," he paused, **Stay away from her **echoing in his ears, "but he knows how to play the game – and he has too much to lose." He thought to warn him – but it was Gambit's life. It wasn't as if Gambit was the kind to stick around long enough for consequences to catch up with him anyway.

Joseph, Erik, Magneto walked out of the room, leaving his old acquaintance staring at the cut-off video with the tips of his mouth pulled down as if by invisible strings.

**_

* * *

_**

Give me something to believe in

**_Cause I don't believe in you anymore_**

**_Anymore_**

**_I wonder if it even makes a difference to try_**

* * *

Yet she still gave her own confessions, half-whispers of her own pain, somehow still trusting him with her fragments.

"Sometimes I think I should've stayed with the Brotherhood. It would've been," she hesitated and he wished he could draw out her words from inside as easily as he drew out her lust, "easier, simpler."

He doesn't respond though he knows the truth far more intimately than she.

Being the bad guy usually is.

And she retaliated, in her own weak way.

Blond hair, blue eyes, playful smile, shy invitation to dance. A self-conscious golden boy, Cody, football star crushing after the gothic loner – bangs brushing forehead as he leaned to kiss her, her reaching up on tip-toe – _he can see it in his mind_ – "mah first kiss," she whispered and he can't touch that memory.

And another boisterous boy, brunette this time, volunteering so selflessly (something inside of him hisses) and she assents, before the end of their first interlude and the betrayal that lances through him is sharp-edged – it's the closest to romance she's ever exposed, the most traitorous.

She'd never said anything about Scott again and he wondered, listening with only half-attentive ears as she relays the end of that interaction, absorption.

Until she adds a truth, the truth, that throws all else into confusion – all his assumptions, all his conclusions, all his conflicted feelings.

"I knew it wouldn't transfer."

He can't breathe, can't think. His eyes flash to hers, but she's hiding them and he can only bury himself further into her body.

And he's lost, lost in her and him and the all that lies between.

* * *

She didn't appear the next night.

He watched her sleep in silence, resisting the impulse even to finger his deck. It had taken him an hour to make this decision, to dare to retrace his old path and intrude into the room she had dismissed him from, and nothing would ruin it. She slept in a state far from peace, tossing every few minutes, rearranging her legs as often, and making half-strangled growls into the thick of her pillow.

The _chérie_ needed sleep – he was no fool. He'd ignored the darkening under her eyes, belied even by her ridiculous makeup – even admittedly taken a vicious thrill in the visible proof of his success, but faced with her restless exhaustion, he found himself unable not to care. Sleep, however, didn't seem to want to lay with his _chérie_.

_His_. The possessive lay bitter on his tongue, but he swallowed it.

Muttering an obscure French curse to himself almost comfortingly, he smoothly lowered himself onto the bed, chancing a glance at her soundly sleeping roommate. Rogue rolled toward the motion, but before consciousness could haunt her mind, he tucked her to himself. She took one breath and relaxed as the identity of the presence registered. Managing a sleepy huff, she buried her head against his chest, squirming only a little to attain the most comfortable arrangement.

And at last she slept, anchored in warmth, watched over by the eyes of a devil.

_I'm wasting time_

_but she's always on my mind_

_I can't let her go_

Something had to change. But it could wait until tomorrow.

_Only sometimes tomorrow is too late…_


	17. Out of control

4Rogue – you didn't sign in, so here is my response:

Retaliation is a very bad habit with both of them, especially Rogue, and it is going to be something they'll have to deal with. / Okay some equilibrium - her going out with Angel once and then turning down his offer to be more involved does NOT compare to Remy sleeping with a large number of random women and bringing it up while they're being intimate/ As to jumping to conclusions, Remy isn't saying or thinking he's in love with her. He wants her, sure, even more than she's willing to offer, but remember, he's had only one serious relationship before and he's still bitter about the end of that one. Until he comes to grips with the tenderness he feels for Rogue, Rogue's not really wrong for being wary. / Dead-on about the being used part though. Rogue has always been the victim, this has been her first major attempt to reverse that, to use someone else and she's sticking to that role. And oh yeah, Gambit has major self-esteem issues, that will be addressed later.

You too, lovestoread:

The first kiss was Cody, from the episode introing Rogue - in the comics, Cody kissed her and that's when her powers first activated. As to the second blond boy was Iceman **(drat, he's NOT**** blond!! I can't believe I screwed that up!! He's blond in the comics - that's why!**** Wow, no one else picked up on that... ) / **Her confession there recalls her realization her control with Remy doesn't transfer to others – and thus, she chose to give her virginity to him for non-practice reasons. (That's sure to give Remy a mindjob.)

Thanks Chica De Los Ojos Café, so I can point out an IMPORTANT ISSUE: Remy has had fuckbuddies before, thus Rogue's cynicism is justified - so this is a new experience where such a relationship isn't enough for him. Rogue knows it's not enough for her, but she's settling - she thinks this is the most she can get from him, because he's only interested in physical relationships.

* * *

And thanks to the rest of you!

Wiccamage, coldqueen (lol), romylover, Riauna (:)), cream tea anyone **(absolutely - but I'm trying to also show how addiction can be destructive), **animefan135, TheLetter5, thriller, ShadowFax999 (OY! And neutral is good. As for running, well...), Delphine, allyg1990, dreamschemer (I'm going to address that), deadsnowwhite, Cleio (thanks, sometimes I worry I'm too concise).

And best quote goes to: ishandahalf – absolutely!

"It just isn't a Rogue/Remy relationship without the drama." LOL!

This chapter has been begging to be written for a long time – thus the length. The sex is over people, now let the action begin. –evil grin- Only four chapters to go!!

Okay, first section – basically a splicing of Rogue and Remy's perspectives. Rogue's in bold. Lyrics are from _Total Eclipse of the Heart _by_ Bonnie Tyler_. I know it's an oldy, but man, it worked fantastically here.

* * *

17) Out of control

* * *

It was strange really.

**Practice before had been far more time-consuming, not to mention mentally draining. It had been draining to constantly be aware of her mental state, on guard for the moment she inevitably lost her grip, even if Remy was usually more alert and ready to pull away.**

Remy wasn't a sadist – and he didn't want to be one.

**But she'd passed that stage. Her involvement with Remy was now almost simply physical exercise; a tangle of limbs, tongue, and teeth. Simply put: sex, other than the secret exchange.**

He didn't want to enjoy the fact she wanted him despite herself, despite her better judgment. He didn't want torment her with the ugliness of his past, filling her ears with the knowledge of who exactly she was in bed with, the devil she let between her thighs.

**And yet, there was an exhaustion her past couldn't touch. And it wasn't physical – the ache of stretched muscles, ones that had just recently become used, or the lethargy that accompanied a harsh workout. This exhaustion haunted her steps, a whispered hiss at the ****exertion it took**** j****ust getting through the day****, a hollow echo that filled her head whenever someone addressed her. She couldn't quite pin it down – it was everywhere, yet centered nowhere– utterly elusive.**

And when it came down to it, it didn't satisfy him. Seeing her cringe from him, yet return the next night only made him wonder just how far he could push her before she passed the point of no-return.

**It was as if Remy had reversed his mutation. Instead of charging the energy, he was steadily draining it out of her. She had to give a grim smile at the ludicrous thought. **

He didn't want the answer for that; he didn't want her to despise him.

**She was the only vampire around.**

**Yet somehow he was bleeding her dry.**

It couldn't be too late to lay down his cards.

**Her head sunk into her hands. **

It couldn't be…

**It didn't**** help that psyches were**** act****ing**** up – ever since the progression of her relationship with Remy, they'd become more hostile, especially Wolverine. ****The only one pleased was Remy's. ****And the only time they gave her rest was when she was with him – and his psyche expanded within her until it was just them, Rogue and Remy.**

Because this was never what he wanted.

**But she wouldn't give into them, no more than she could give into Remy,**** let him break ****her,**** with the whispered confessions he plied her with.**

All he had to do –

**Every**** secret**** another tendril of connection****, no matter how much it hurt.**

was figure out how to stop the game before it was too late.

_

* * *

_

Your love is like a shadow on me all of the time

_I don't know what to do and I'm always in the dark _

_We're living in a powder keg and giving off sparks _

* * *

It was just after ten that the call went out. After watching over Rogue for the better part of the night, Remy would've been loath to get out of bed, especially as it was a weekend, but then Wolverine had mentioned the reason for the impromptu mission.

**Creed.**

He was at the front door in ten minutes flat, impatiently waiting for Colossus to join them.

"You sure it's him?" he couldn't help asking.

Wolverine's look was disgusted. "Chuck's been picking him up in the area. He wants to know why he's skulking around here." His fists tensed.

"Can't head out without the Tin Man?" he said instead.

"Nope," he snorted. "Chuck thinks he'd be the best to handle the situation _diplomatically_." He cracked his knuckles and Gambit didn't doubt the man had his own plans along the lines of personal vendetta. He didn't remark on it though; he had his own similar reasons for wanting to see Creed without the watch dog of Magneto around. He had his own score to settle.

His hands tingled with a rush of energy and with effort, he calmed himself. The fireworks had to wait.

Colossus finally appeared, looking hassled, not alone – and Gambit's frown matched Wolverine's scowl.

"Weh have jus' as much a rahght tah go!" Rogue insisted to a harried Cyclops tailing Colossus, Shadowcat flanking her on the other side.

"Cyke, what's this about?" Wolverine gruffly intervened first. The younger man ran a hand through his hair.

"Professor Xavier made me team leader for this assignment–" Gambit felt like the scoffing at the 'honor,' but Wolverine beat him to it.

Wolverine's growl was low in his throat, but clearly audible. "I know that! I meant about your tag-alongs."

Rogue stared him down, her hair obviously mussed by the quick change into her uniform, folding her arms. "Weh're full X-Men jus' like you guys. And we're available, it's Satahday and we ain't got any other plans."

"You're not needed." Gambit watched a familiar fire fill her eyes and felt a certain satisfaction that for once it wasn't directed at him. Not that he disagreed with Wolverine, at all.

"Yah cin neva have too much backup," she shot back, cocking a hip and making her X-Men belt shift down. Gambit's hands clenched to repress the sudden urge to toy with it. "An' it ain't like we're helpless."

"We don't need-" It was almost amusing how Wolverine had just usurped Cyclops' position, but Cyclops seemed content to let the grizzled older man wage this battle.

"With us, weh cin break inta three teams 'stead of two. Cut down the searchin' time." That was a valid point and Gambit began to feel the first strands of unease.

"It's S-"

Rogue snorted. "Sabretooth," she cut him off in mockingly high sweet voice. "The overgrown furball we've neva dealt with bahfore!"

Wolverine was still frowning, but seemed to be weakening. "Yah got lucky."

"We had a plan – and it worked."

Wolverine's eyes flicked to the silent, possibly persuadable, girl next to her. "Half-pint?" Shadowcat's eyes shot between Wolverine and Rogue, but she nodded.

"We just want to help Mr. Logan and you know we can."

"Fine," he turned on his heel. "Take the van. Just follow my bike."

Rogue smirked in victory, but Gambit stepped up, forcing his lips into a casual grin. There was no way he wanted Rogue anywhere near Creed. Wolverine paused with his hand on the door.

"_Ch__é__rie_, dis just be a reconnaissance mission; all of us be a bit of an overkill, _ce__ n'est__ pas_?" (isn't it?)

She didn't buy it for a moment, her hard eyes narrowing. "You got somet'ing tah say Gambit, say it straight."

He dropped the grin. "Weh can handle dis wit'out help."

She sneered at him. "Who are yah, mah mother?" The comparison stung and she cocked her head in faux realization. "Wait, she'd let me go."

He stepped closer to her unconsciously, staring into her defiant eyes, and just wanted to grab, shake her, say he was, he was… He was what to her? Lover? Fuckbuddy? He never thought he would mind an ambiguity this much. And he was suddenly very aware of the fact all the other X-Men were staring at them, as if anticipating the clarification just as much. He forced his hands down by his side.

If she read his intent in his eyes, she gave no sign, only raised her chin up higher and lifted a half-gloved hand. "Afraid he's gonna tell me a secret?"

The implication was obvious and he reeled –

**Blond hair shi****ning in the moon-lit night, pale skin stark against the frigid dark sky.**** She dangled like a doll, caught in the clutch of a monster who ****ferally ****grinned ****from the top of the building and he is six stories too low – opposite a stocky man, dark eyes and hair lost in the night, but known too well – **_**brother **_

**"Which is going to be little thief?"**

**The girl who loved him – **_**Genny**_** – except she couldn't, this pretty **_**fille**_** only a tool to get a gem, a gem not worth her deceived dangling life that he can't choose because blood is always thicker than water – **_**the two fall and he swings out but he can only catch the brother by choice instead of the lover he used…**_

**And her blood ran on the street.**

He came back to himself – _had she dreamed it? _– he'd taken a step back and she brushed by him. And he didn't dare reach out to stop her.

Shadowcat hurried after her, biting her lip and darting only a quick look at Gambit as she passed. Cyclops followed, though Colossus dawdled, silently offering his support but wisely refraining from speaking.

"Guess you'll be in the van wit' de kit-kat," Gambit said with a razor-sharp grin. "Betta hurry."

"You ar' not co-ming?"

Gambit flicked his fingers, as if getting rid of an imaginary cigarette. "Gambit got his bike, 'll follow."

Colossus gave him a concerned look but nodded. He stepped outdoors a moment later, catching sight of Rogue rounding on Shadowcat.

"What more do you wanta talk 'bout? Thought y' said all you wanted last night?" her heated voice carried and Shadowcat immediately backed away with a flush.

Rogue's eyes darted to his, then flew away – and for the first time, he wondered why exactly she hadn't come to him last night. She'd never missed before, even if he had left her twisting two nights.

But the back of her head as she trudged into the van gave no answers.

* * *

Gambit walked through the forest in bad humor. There was no point in stealth – behind him Cyclops tripped over a root and yelped as he crashed into a bush.

"Gambit, slow down! The whole point of teams is to stay together!"

He cursed his luck to end up with the bumbling Boy Scout. Colossus had been the one to luck out in the assignments; he'd been paired with Shadowcat as a perfect complement of offensive and defensive mutations. Wolverine had claimed Rogue, leaving Cyclops to Gambit.

He cursed Wolverine. If he let Creed within three feet of her –

As if on cue (except for the fact he'd had the same thought circling his brain every since they'd split into three groups half-an-hour again), he heard a scream – dim, but distinct.

His blood froze, before firing into action.

And he flew toward the sound, arrowing through the trees. Cyclops ran behind him, talking into his mouthpiece.

"Colossus! Shadowcat! Rogue! Report! What's going on?!"

Gambit swallowed, bringing his hand up to his ear. "Rogue? _Russe_? If y' cin hear us, say somet'ing!"

"We, we're okay –" Shadowcat's shaky, breathless voice in his ear only lessened Gambit's panic minutely. Something had gone wrong, he could feel it in his bones – and a thief never doubted his intuition.

"Where are you?" Cyclops immediately demanded, his voice crisp and commanding.

The woods began to thin and with a final burst of adrenalin, Gambit sprinted into a clearing. His eyes instantly scanned the scene, lasering in on the sight of Rogue. His breath caught.

She was curled into a ball, shoulders shaking, holding her head. "_Chere_!"

Shadowcat's white face snapped up from where she hovering next to Rogue, Colossus at her side. Wolverine remained sniffing around an apparently unconscious Sabertooth a few yards from Rogue.

"What de hell happened?" he demanded, coming over to Rogue but resisting the urge to take her into his arms, a slightly out-of-breath Cyclops coming up behind him.

Shadowcat blinked rapidly, wrapping her arms around herself. "He-he found us and started to ask Colossus about Magneto-"

"He did not seem to ov heard much ov his return," Colossus clarified.

Shadowcat resumed without seeming to realize the interruption. "-he was just asking and being, being snarly when Lo-Wolverine showed up," she licked her lips, "and then they started to fight and Sabertooth threw him out here and-," her breath caught "we followed when Rogue showed up. She came from the opposite direction and-and I didn't really see her until Sabertooth almost fell over her."

Her eyes fell back to Rogue, who was rocking herself and muttering under her breath, and she blinked tears. "I guess he thought she was going to try to absorb him and he grabbed her hand-" She cut herself off as he automatically looked at her hands, half-gloved and he felt a burning seize the lining of his throat. Colossus put a steadying hand on Shadowcat's shoulder.

Cyclops swore, but Gambit could only muster a bleak smile. "Language Fearless Leader."

"He wasn't supposed to attack Sabertooth! I know he's got his issues with him, but- What are you doing?!"

Gambit immediately looked over to Wolverine and his smile became a little more authentic. Wolverine was half-way through chaining Sabertooth, clicking his hands into the manacles he must've stowed in the van's trunk and retrieved.

"He's more cooperative this way," he grunted, starting on the feet and Cyclops, worked into a fine temper, began to rail at him.

He only got two sentences in though before the 'overgrown furball' came to. He let loose a full body shiver like a cat exposed to water. "Damn brat soul-sucker." Wolverine's claws came out, inches from Sabertooth's throat.

"I'd watch your tongue – 'cuz I can make it disappear."

"Wolverine!" Cyclops warned. Sabertooth's head shuddered, before his eyes opened and he keenly looked around. Ignoring the immediate threat, his gaze landed on Gambit. He grinned ferally.

"Long time, no see thief." Gambit's jaw tensed. "Wasn't expectin' to see you – haven't turned tail an' run home like a good little lackey yet?"

The card was charging between his fingers before he even registered the action. "Y' _bibette_-"

Wolverine scowled at him. "Put the card away hotshot."

"Gambit-"

But the distraction was exactly what Sabertooth had been waiting for – his loose foot shot out and slammed Wolverine right in the jaw, sending the smaller man flying as Sabertooth jumped shakily to his feet. Gambit let loose the card, but Sabertooth was already on the run despite the chains and the explosion of dirt just served to obscure his flight.

"Gambit!"

"I've got him!" Wolverine snarled, giving chase and disappearing into the forest. Cyclops swore again.

"Ve should get Rogue tuo Xavier," Colossus' solemn voice interrupted and both men spun. Colossus was in metal form, holding an unconscious Rogue gingerly in his arms – and Gambit could not help the pang of jealousy. Shadowcat hovered at his side, her lip swollen from biting.

"Fine," Cyclops said tightly, "let's move out."

Gambit caught up beside Shadowcat and they walked in silence until they got to the van. "De _fille_'s gonna be alright," he finally said quietly, his eyes on the still Rogue, not sure who he was trying to convince.

Shadowcat tried to smile. "She always is. Last time, she grew out all this hair and complained about having to shave it off." The smile died.

They both knew that the less physical changes Rogue exhibited, the more mental energy she'd absorbed – out of Creed.

Gambit cursed.

* * *

Had she not able to control her mutation or did she absorb Creed intentionally? The thought tormented him. The thought she'd inflicted it on herself, all to know the few secrets he had kept from her.

She didn't come to him that night.

And he couldn't go to her, not with Creed haunting her mind.

Remy paced the floor long into the night.

* * *

He had learned early in life that busying his hands was the surest way to keep himself out of trouble. Cigarettes and cards had proved helpful in that manner – and so did the skill of cooking.

He'd learned for a very different reason, of course. After being so long on the streets, grabbing scraps wherever he could, he'd been enthralled by the fully stocked kitchen at the LeBeaus. Tante Mattie had snapped his fingers red for trying to snatch half-baked goodies (the LeBeau boys had a running contest but Mattie had with great skill, kept all their scores below 50). But later, noticing that he displayed just as much interest in the actual process of preparing the food, she had started giving outloud tips whenever he came around and 'punishing' him to helping out in the kitchen. It was thanks to her that he could make the best gumbo north of the Mason-Dixie line.

It hadn't taken very long at the Mansion for Piotr to slip up and mention Remy's ability to Kitty, who had been positively thrilled and begged to be taught. Remy would never fall for those big kitten eyes again.

But restless, he volunteered to make a Cajun snack for a bunch of the younger girls watching some chick flick he'd never bothered to check out. Jean, passing by, was soon roped into the scheme as well, but Remy had no energy for flirtation. Long hours of thought had drained him, leaving his head aching, though anxious for something, anything to occupy him.

He slipped off his gloves into his coat, which he set aside on one of the chairs arranged by the kitchenette adjoining the rec room the girls had claimed a couch in.

Cajun seasoned popcorn was hardly gourmet, but it was better than nothing – and the buzz of their chatter in the background was almost soothing.

His back to them, he told them to go ahead and start the movie.

He knew the moment she walked in.

The step creaked when you entered the room – it was too soft for any of the X-boys, too hesitant for the high-energy girls.

It gave another muttered groan as she hesitated in the doorway – _she always did that when she wasn't in a sociable mood, debate in the doorway_. Despite himself, he felt his empathy reach out for her, but he caught himself before contact.

After everything, he didn't want to have a bout with her. Not now.

And so he steadfastly ignored her as her quiet footsteps entered the room. He refused to look up, just popped the popcorn into the microwave and busied his hands in the clean-up.

**They just kept talking, kept ****moving around, memories, emotions, voices – they just wouldn't stop. About him, about her, about themselves, about EVERYTHING!**

"Rogue?"

**It was like constant static, a constant barrage except she couldn't close her eyes, couldn't shut off the sound. Her hand was against her head – but she was so tired…**

"Rogue you okay?" Jean asked again and his shoulders tensed. No, he would not give in so easily.

"Stay outta my head Red."

They all recognized Wolverine's growl and Remy's head snapped around. Jean, Rahne, Jubilee and others were looking over the back of the couch at Rogue, Jean looking particularly worried.

He felt an icy dread crawl down his spine. If Wolverine, who Rogue hasn't absorbed in weeks is that close to the surface… He cursed and slide over the counter, racing to her side. She hunched against the back of the couch, eyes wedged shut, her jaw locked as she obviously waged battle with the psyches inside.

He felt sick.

_I really need you tonight _

_Forever's __gonna__ start tonight _

Belatedly, as he reached to lift her face crouching in front of her, he realized he didn't have gloves on. And the rapid thrum of her mutation was feverish and _hungry_ – she didn't have any control.

He picked one of the girls still half-crouched on the couch, looking on with obvious concern and possible panic. "Jubilee, go get m' gloves. Left pocket." He didn't wait to see her nod. "An' someone get Xavier."

"I already called him." Jean's voice was steady and he felt a cold relief that someone else was calm. For the first time, he cursed the wheelchair that restricted the telepath. As if reading his mind – was she? – she went on. "Her mind is too fragile for him to try anything outside of her presence. And I can't-" she cut herself off.

Rogue was hunching back in on herself and he nudged his knee between her knees, pushing her chin up to prevent the defensive curling. He couldn't wait. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jubilee still fumbling with his jacket.

"Got the gloves?" She straightened, self-consciously holding a pair in one hand.

"Yeah, but the fingers are caught off-"

"Bring them here," he demanded and she immediately obeyed, her puzzled frown remaining.

He slid them on and took a deep breath preparing himself as he sat before her.

_And I need you now tonight _

_And I need you more than ever _

_And if you'll only hold me tight _

_We'll be holding on forever _

_And we'll only be making it right _

_Cause we'll never be wrong together _

_We can take it to the end of the line _

Her mind was a maelstrom of emotion, it radiated out of her in drowning intensity as her walls crumbled, making his senses spin – so much, much worse than the previous time. It must've taken time to get this bad – how had he possibly missed it?

But he knew the answer.

He hadn't wanted to feel this deeply.

_Once upon a time I was falling in love _

_But now I'm only falling apart _

But how to help her? She gave an anguished growl and he could see her fingernails lengthening – and he remembered the description of her last rampage. Losing all control – _his mind shuddered in remembrance –_

No! He had to think objectively; he needed a plan. His charm wasn't working – the churning knots of emotions were like so many whirlpools, blackholes sucking any possible manipulation into oblivion. Too much chaos, like trying to meld together an armful of broken glass with only body heat.

So much energy, just waiting to explode – his mind flashed. Pressure; she was like a pressure cooker, she needed it released, lowered. Siphon the emotions, let it vent – he brought his hands up to her face, letting his fingers feather her face. He'd never let her absorb him without her at least partially in control – he couldn't dwell on that.

_Time to lay __y'r__ hand down __LeBeau_, he still couldn't help but think.

"Look at me Rogue."

_There's nothing I can do _

_A total eclipse of the heart_

Almost painfully, her eyes finally shuttered open and he caught them in his gaze, using every ounce of empathy he had –

_**h**__**e**__** pulled -**_

And the supernova of anger surged through her, forcing its way to primacy. Her entire body tensed as it became thicker, stronger, more feral. A fanged mouth leered at him.

"LeBeau," a foreign voice sneered out of her red mouth before launching into a string of curses and he shuddered internally. "What are you, the big f-ing hero?"

He kept his tone calm, despite the effort. "Y' not in yaur body Creed an' y' can't jus' try ta hijack Rogue."

Her face grew darker before the sneer became more pronounced, her entire face contorting into malice. "How sweet that you care," Sabertooth hissed cloyingly, "you gonna let this girl fall too?" **Blond hair fluttering in the night like a flag as it fell – **Sharp fingernails dug into his arms and he grit his teeth, trying desperately to keep projecting calm.

"De _f__ille_ can take care of herself, laid you flat," he couldn't edge of the rebuke.

An almost mutinous, sullen look settled on her face. "Bet she's laid you flat more." The charm was working and the howling anger of Sabertooth was fading, he touched her face again, forcing the pocket of emotion to fragment before pulling once again. The cold bit into him, but he ignored it.

Her body shuddered, her torso suddenly loosening and becoming less compact, like a rippling effect of a disturbed lake.

"Where the hell am I now?" she snapped in a voice he didn't recognize. "What did that freak mutie do to me?"

His teeth ground again, but he managed a condescending smirk. "Jus' _calme _boy. You ain't bein' hurt."

"Hurt? I'm stuck in here – in her, you think I wanted this?" The sheer annoyance got to him.

"Y' shouldn't've attacked her den," he snapped.

The emotional swirl charged higher as Rogue's body tensed and he hissed, brushing her face and muttering calm.

"Y' leave de _fille_ alone an' dere ain't no trouble."

"Says you," the boy shot back, "her what?" It was a bitter last blow as the power of the psyche faded under the assault. He didn't respond, just kept stroking her face – she drew in the energy and then he drew it out.

Golden eyes glowed at him. "Gambit, vhy am I not surprised?"

Ignoring the hostility, he felt himself relax just a bit. At last someone he could possibly persuade. "All dis angah ain't good for yaur sis Blue Boy."

Finer fangs flashed. "Like Rogue doesn't livve on anger," was spat out, but before Remy could do more than blink, the psyche reoriented. "An' yhou, you are good for her?"

He was starting to notice a trend, one he didn't particularly like. Wasn't there anyone in there who liked him?

But deftly, he avoided the accusation. "Righ' now, 'm more worried 'bout you. Stop fightin' de _chere_. It's hurtin' her – an' I know y' don't want dat."

The bellicose wavered, before softening slightly. But Kurt was just as stubborn as his faux sister. "An' you?"

Remy put his fingers on her face and lulled him, before drawing out the next, fingers numb, not trusting himself to give a promise.

"Some guys just aren't meant to be good guys." The hiss caught him off-guard, but the knot unraveled even as it was expressed and only by a mental count, and finally deciding it hadn't been his own psyche, did he figure out it must have been Bobby.

"Remy!" At last, someone who sounded half-glad to see him – but then, inevitably, she frowned. "It's getting bad in here." Clear blue eyes looked into him.

"Yeah, noticed." He gave a grimace-smile. "Tryin' to help." He waggled a bare finger by her face, but she didn't even glance.

Her lips pressed into a solemn, almost feral look. "Maybe you should've been less eager," she said sharply and he knew she wasn't talking about this time.

"Kit-kat-" he wasn't sure why he felt the urge to defend himself, rather than calm.

She cut him off. "Yeah, I know, I need to calm down – but y'know, it's a lot harder to do it in here. It's just – we're all we have in here." She tried to explain – and he almost wanted to say sorry or he understood, but it seemed insulting. Instead, he touched her face, the act took more energy than before, and –

A growl. Her fingers tensed again.

"Gumbo."

"Wolverine," he said, this not the time or place to antagonize.

"The bastard who just can't leave her alone." He didn't even blink, instead giving him a severe look.

"If y' got a problem with me _homme_, y' or de others, you take it up wit' me," he challenged. "Leave de _ch__é__rie_ out of it."

"Kinda hard to do that-" His eyes lasered, even as he recognized the easing of the attack.

"Maybe, but really de _chere_'s suffe'ed enough without y'all gangin' up on her." Her face darkened, what was possibly a guilty face flitting over the features.

"And you bub?" He grit his teeth, realizing agreeing is impossible.

"I'm helpin' her – more than I can say for y' at the moment." Wolverine was defiant, but he was touching her face and the psyche dissolved into so much fragments. His fingers trembled, but he forced himself to bring out the heated core within her, resonating with both calm and frustration.

And then finally, her eyes changed – and he faced his own reflection.

The laugh that came from her throat was far too familiar. "Couldn't keep your fucking hands off, could y' LeBeau?"

He gave a bitter smirk. "Once a t'ief... Let de _femme_ rest," his entire body resonated with the sentiment.

"_Je __sais_," (I know) the psyche peered at him placidly. "But y' really t'ought y' could touch de _femme_ unscatched?'

And the words echoed: **We must all have our dreams**.

He touched his fingers to her skin for the final time.

_Once upon a time there was light in my life _

_But now there's only love in the dark _

_Nothing I can say _

_A total eclipse of the heart _

Her eyes rolled back, flashing white – _like a blank slate and __dieu__, he wished he could exorcise his own demons so easily –_ and she suddenly slumped into him, as if a puppet cut of its strings. He stroked her pale streak with infinite gentleness, feeling a shiver run down his body.

"Feel better now don't you?" he said humorlessly or tried to say, except the words garbled as his world wobbled and he passed out, covering her, oblivious of the girls' cries.

_

* * *

_

Turnaround, every now and then I know

_**you'll**__** never be the b**__**oy you always**__** wanted **__**you **__**to be **_

_Turnaround, every now and then I know _

_**you'll**__** always be the only boy who wanted me the way that I am **_

_Turnaround, every now and then I know _

_**there's**__** no one in the universe as magical and wondrous as you **_

_Turnaround, every now and then I know _

_**there's**__** nothing any better and there's nothing I just wouldn't do **_

_Turnaround bright eyes, e__very now and _

_**then**__** I fall apart**_

* * *

"I don't – I've never seen, anything like what he did. I just-" Red hair shook in an obvious loss of words.

"That's understandable Jean," Xavier soothed. "Remy is not a telepath, he's an empath. He operates in a very different manner."

Her brow wrinkled. "I know, but still. I get that he could draw out the psyches by manipulating the emotions, instead of the thoughts and calming them – but it wasn't just what _he _was doing, but what he was doing inside her- Except he wasn't doing it!"

It was incomprehensible. Jean was a telepath, used to constantly keeping her powers in check lest she skim internal secrets or thoughts. She still slipped up though, and usually it was the fact she knew too much, rather than not enough that plagued her. Observing Remy's interaction with Rogue however, fell far outside her range of experience. It was like asking a Renaissance painter to accurately describe a piece of impressionism.

"Jean-"

"Ugh, it wasn't just him using his powers–" she cut him off, obviously trying to break down the issue, "he was doing the hypnotic eye thing for sure, but he kept touching her face – like he was forcing her to take in the charm directly and, and it echoed."

Xavier was intrigued and leaned forward. "Echoed?"

She glanced down at him. "I, I can't really explain it any other way. Whatever he was trying to do from the outside, he somehow managed to duplicate it inside her."

"Hmm." Predictably his hands steepled.

"Professor?"

"I can't say I know for certain Jean," he cautioned, his mind lost in rumination, "but it does seem like he used his own psyche to amplify his empathy."

"You mean, he activated the empathy she absorbed inside her?" Jean goggled at the thought. In light of Rogue's previous breakdown, she and Xavier had extensively discussed Rogue's mentalscape. He had cautioned her against ever trying to interfere with it as the psyches inside could be quite hostile, and as they belonged to different minds, were nearly impossible for anyone to control completely, even by Rogue or Xavier himself. "But how?"

"That I do not know. We will have to wait for him to awaken. Using his empathy so extensively and being continuously absorbed has taken a toll on him."

Jean could only nod, still in shock.

* * *

**Rogue wasn't sure when she awoke. She wasn't even positive it was her who had become alert first – Remy was so completely poised within her.**

**All the other psyches were quiet, muffled by the expansive, ever-present sense of **_**him **_**within her. She felt, felt full, almost like her own skin and personality were wrapped around him as if he was the core and she the imposer – as if ****if**** she peeled off the first layer of her skin, he was what would be found.**

**It was disorienting, but not, terrible. He wasn't trying to push her out, just lay there, observant, a shadow underlying her every thought and movement.**

**She carefully picked herself of the bed, he didn't like her getting up **_**– still need to rest **__**ch**__**é**__**rie -, **_**but he didn't like the antiseptic white walls eit****her and his protest was feeble.**

**She glanced in the mirror in the bathroom, she looked ragged, worn around the edges – _had a bit of a rough ride dere_**** - but far better than she had looked last time. _Mmmm..._**

**Feeling his thoughtful _hmm_ vibrate through her, she wondered where he was; they needed to talk. Really talk.**

**She turned to the door, recognizing him down the hall, before realizing she wasn't relying on her senses to do so. She could _feel_ him ****down there, just coming conscious.**

**Bizarre – she'd ****never had such perfect control – except it was almost like coordination –**** of his empathy before.**

**And that was why she felt the change.**

Molecules, atoms are in constant motion, consuming energy, storing it, expending it. Remy had never had the chemistry lesson to clarify the whole concept, but he knew, had experienced, the reality.

The ability to change potential energy into kinetic. To use his own self-produced energy to be a catalyst, transforming the most innocent objects into fiery explosives.

Along with that ability had come a sense, an awareness of the energy around him, an inaudible whine of moving particles, brushing, crashing, orbiting others. A hum that only got louder when he gave into the implicit request, _release me_!

And once, once upon a time, he hadn't needed to use physical contact to do so…

His head ached, a low throb echoing into the full reaches of his brain. He groaned, squeezing his eyes tight in anticipation of bright light. They burned as well, as if they'd already been exposed and overexposed.

They burned.

The energy, the hum – he lifted a hand to his head feeling the movements all around him like drafts on his skin. Where was he?

He peeked an eye – MedLab – before realizing his mistake.

He could feel it coursing through his body, racing from his core to every inch of his body – and beyond into the pulsating bed to the damn sinister white walls.

Energy.

Every square scrap he had left just like before…

_that had forced him from New Orleans with ten bloodied bodies from the night exploding on his hands, only their fear preventing his own execution…_

"No!"

**Pain, realization – terror, like she'd only felt experienced few times before when she knew – _dieu he knew_ ****– what was about to happen when she – _he_ ****– the disaster, danger about to befall but couldn't fucking stop it and –**

**She started to run, but collided into Dr. McCoy who she hadn't seen appear – except it didn't matter because Remy – _REMY!_**

**The last thing she felt was an arm around her waist before the world exploded into light.**

**_"NO!"_**

_

* * *

_

There's nothing I can do

_A total eclipse of the heart_


	18. No Damsel in Distress

Thanks to all my lovely reviewers!

explodingcards (thanks and I am trying!), Bellasaurs (they are very brooding, aren't they? And good song, sequel material), vintage demigoddess, X-Storm (oh don't apologize!), lonelyeyedgrrl, LavenderFairy17, vinh, kipper503, lovestoread, ShadowFax999 (I love it! You wrote as you read!), Delphine, Wiccamage, Rogue181, coldqueen, fairy-princess7, animefan135, ishandahalf (glad to help!), TheLetter5 (Wow, I love your description, but you nailed my idea straight on the head!), dreamschemer, mazdamiatta, deadsnowwhite, allyg1990, cream tea anyone (BIG –blush-).

Shout-outs!

Roguerulez: a sequel is planned – have two other viable ideas: a humorous one-shoot based off a line from Freelancer's **Bad Boys** fic: "If I ever figure out some way to get around this no-touching thing, the first thing I'm gonna do is pull Remy LeBeau into a closet" and a cute romp through the Big Easy when Rogue's like ten – neither angst.

WisenedReader – :(. Sorry, I really love music – it expresses something unique, just like poetry. I have no intention of taking the past lyrics out and I'm sorry you find it a 'cheap gimmick.' I do agree that often it's misused and perhaps I've gone overboard. However, I will note that future chapters will not have lyrics.

Wiccamage: "He finally laid his cards down huh? Made the ultimate commitment to give his soul, his life, his entire SELF to Rogue just to save her from losing hers. It's like a mutant version of Romeo and Juliet, but hopefully without the horribly sad ending..." That's a really interesting connection – except I always hated that play. It has the instant-love-and-devotion plot device I hate and yes I hate the ending too!

Best quote: Chica De Los Ojos Café! (I love to do this – match the form with the psychological content)

"Romy is like a recipe add some hate, mix in some attraction, a dab of sexual frustration, two broken hearts, mistrust, some scary hateful glances, a touch of uncontrollable powers, and a seemingly undesirable but so earth-shattering a love and you've got yourself some good ole fashioned Romy."

To Selina, you had so many comments, but weren't signed in, so I saved my response for the bottom!

* * *

Here we go! Enter – the villain. Lyrics by Brand New, "The Boy Who Blocked His Own Shot" as recommended!

* * *

It Takes Two…to Practice

18) No damsel in distress –

_

* * *

_

If it makes you less sad, I will die by your hand.

_I hope you find out what you want. _

_I already know what I am. _

_And if it makes you less sad, we'll start talking again. _

_And you can tell me how vile I already know that I am. _

_I'll grow old and start acting my age. _

_I'll be a brand new day in a life that you hate. _

_A crown of gold. _

_A heart that's harder than stone. _

_And it hurts a whole lot, but it's missed when it's gone. _

* * *

"What the hell happened?" Scott demanded angrily. His arms were rigid, braced against the table, as he was too tense to sit. The rest of the older half of the mansion were arranged around the conference table.

Hank cleaned his glasses before answering. "The best I can deduce is that Gambit lost control of his kinetic abilities. Apparently they surged, in that not only items he was directly touching or in his direct vicinity were charged, but also the extent of the viewing window and the first few layers of the floor, ceiling, and walls. They exploded outward, but thankfully due to the contained space of the MedLab, only did minimal damage." Despite being in the explosion himself, he looked remarkably untouched, but the smell of burnt leg fur remained on him.

"Minimal damage?" Disbelief colored Scott's voice.

Hank ticked off the damage mechanically. "The viewing window extension was completely demolished, impacting the wall from across the way. The interior of the room has been fairly carved up, but the sheer thickness of the walls and ceiling resulted in little structural damage. Gambit was lucky; he has only suffered some abrasions and shrapnel from the hospital bed he was lying on, which I have since removed. The sheer amount of energy however, exhausted him and he's currently unconscious, or so I must assume as I failed to find any sizable lumps on his cranium. Rogue-"

"Rogue; she was hurt?" Scott immediately tensed further, the others in room reacting accordingly.

"She had just gotten out of bed – if I'm not mistaken, she somehow knew, or perhaps sensed is the better word, what was about to happen. She was trying to get to Gambit, but I was able to pull us both back into the safety of her room before the explosion. She was merely knocked unconscious. She's still resting."

Scott relaxed and nodded. Kitty and Kurt however exchanged worried glances. Kitty bit her lip.

"You were saying you believe he lost control?" Xavier asked.

Hank nodded. "Gambit has shown the capacity for large-scale kinetic excitation, but it seems unlikely he would attempt so in his current shape or location. His overuse of his empathetic gifts could've triggered a similar reaction in his kinetic, but honestly I would've assumed the very opposite."

There was a musing nod from Xavier.

"Is it possible this is a maturation of his mutation?"

Hank cocked his head thoughtfully. "It's possible – for him to charge from a distance, brought on by stress, but it is a rather late development if so. Gambit's abilities seemed to have developed rather early, much like Kurt's with an obvious physical component. But it is a plausible hypothesis."

"Not exactly." All heads turned to face the doorway.

"Rogue?" She leaned heavily against the doorframe, looked exhausted with dark smears under both eyes. But her face had the determined look they had all knew intimately.

"You shouldn't be out of bed-" Hank rose from his chair, but Kitty was faster and Rogue gratefully sank into the offered chair, still visibly pale even for herself.

"This has happened before," she spoke before any further protest could be voiced. Kitty hovered at her back.

"When?" Scott's mouth tweaked, but he allowed the subject re-direction.

She shrugged evasively. "He started to charge things all 'round him, couldn't control it."

"So what happened?" Hank asked with a frown, his mind already sorting through the status tests he'd grown through with Gambit. "He obviously didn't retain the ability."

"He said he got someone to fix him up. A doctor," she added, fingers gingerly pushing at her temples.

"A doctor?" Xavier and Hank exchanged a look. "What kind of doctor?"

"He didn't say." She massaged her temples.

"Say?" Scott finally questioned. "You two talked about this?"

She bristled. "Weh we'e talkin' 'bout powers. An' yeah, he shared this. Y' got a problem wit' it?" her voice inflection changed and he frowned, but shook his head.

"Well, obviously it didn't completely work," Kitty chimed in worriedly, "if it like, happened again."

Rogue's look turned grim. "Yeah – an' Remy knows it."

"He woke up?" Hank blinked, not expecting such a quick recovery. Otherwise, he'd have used the intercom for the meeting, rather than leaving the MedLab.

Rogue gave a harsh laugh. "Did more than that," she gave a vague wave. "The fox flew the coop."

"What?" Scott snapped.

"He took off."

"He's not in a good condition to do so. Especially if-" Hank caught himself.

"I suppose our next course of action is obvious," Xavier said, steepling his hands.

Scott read his intent and scowled, crossing his arms. Gambit was turning into quite a problem. "And where are we even supposed to start looking?"

"Where else do you look for a Cajun thief?" Rogue asked rhetorically.

_La Belle Orléans._

* * *

His presence hummed along the lines of her skin, twisting and turning, still elusive to her mind full of questions.

She was hesitant to press, to wring those answers from his psyche. She hadn't wanted to learn his secrets this way. In a world where a single touch could unlock the deepest, darkest corners of another's soul, to learn by voluntary admission was a novelty. A treasure.

The thief in her twisted within her at the thought and she had to turn her mind's eye from the haphazard mess of images of the treasures he had fingered over the years.

A prideful thief. What was she to him?

Except she'd felt the taste of him, seeping in even as he extended his own composure into her. The bitterness of his despair, the acrid tang of fear, and the full, colored, jagged spice of his unsatisfied longing.

She shuddered in remembrance, even as the psyche within her pulsated in sympathy. She pushed it away, staring into the dark night.

Remy's psyche was far deeper than previously. It had tormented her before, once she'd taken leave of Remy. His absence every night made the psyche within her restless, haunting her dreams with half-memories, half-fantasies. Her in lace, in leather, in silk, in catholic school uniform, in her bedroom, in his, in the Danger Room, against the wall of her school (this time her lipstick smeared more than his lips…), in more positions and ways than anything she'd previously contemplated. His desire played in the echoes of her subconscious, throwing out jarring images whenever she ceased to be vigilant.

And then she'd returned to him, dressed in the garb of his fantasy and the psyche had given her peace – only to be replaced by Logan's loathing, Kurt's disgust, Kitty's concern, and the other tumultuous emotions of those involuntarily absorbed. Creed had merely been the final straw.

**Creed.**

**Blond hair fluttering – **

"**Which will it be little thief?"**

_**He cursed the monster for the choice, himself for leaving Genny's side, for stealing the pendant to officially earn the right to his own family, the Guild, the one she'd rightfully stolen, the one for which he'd lied and lied for –**_

**She screamed and dropped far, far down. He laughed.**

_**She was bleeding, so much fucking blood, but still she smiled when he finally reached her side. "Je t'aime mon cher, the pendant ce ton etait." **_**(**_**I love you my dear**_**, the pendant, **_**it was yours**_**.)**

_**And he cursed with tears not loving her.**_

**And he laughed.**

She shuddered again, desperately trying to shut off both psyches. They sloshed within her and she felt sick.

"You okay Stripes?" Logan's gruff voice interrupted her, the man who knew too much.

"Fine." She avoided his eyes, instead choosing to stare out the window, just beginning to see the bright lights of the Big Easy flushing the underside of the night.

Logan had commandeered the mission as soon as Rogue had made it clear she was indispensible, considering she had the all-access pass to Gambit's memories. Scott was technically in charge of the mission; after hearing Rogue's insistence, Kitty and Kurt had badgered Scott into joining as well. Neither felt comfortable letting her follow an unstable Gambit without them. Kurt, in particular, seemed to be viewing this as a way to reinstate his 'brother' status and reconcile.

Xavier had reluctantly agreed to the additions, the fact it was a weekend working in their favor. He'd put his foot down for Ororo had wanted to come along. She, Piotr and Jean would be needed to maintain an adult presence at the mansion. Rogue had been surprised at Ororo's request, she hadn't realized she and Remy got along, but Storm had taken her hand firmly and wished good luck, hoping she'd find Remy in one piece.

Honestly though, the insinuation made Rogue more than a little uneasy. She would find Remy – and he would be fine. He had to be.

She shook herself and flipped on the cockpit lights as Logan began to prepare for landing.

"We're here." Given the time of night, the rest of the crew had opted to catnap and they slowly came to. Rogue had remained awake. This was no time to be at the mercy of her subconscious.

Ignoring the worried eyes on her, she unsnapped her seatbelt and was the first off the plane.

Feeling Remy stir within her as she breathed the New Orleans air in deeply, she muttered, "Home sweet home."

* * *

It was all so familiar.

The scent of perfume, spicy late-night frying, and sweat tantalizing the nose.

The tang of salt and smoke tangling with the tongue.

The clink of jewelry, raucous laughter from open doorways, the jingle of zydeco music piping out of the corners of windows winding its way through the streets.

The musty, humid sky pressing on the skin.

She felt – like it was home.

Except it wasn't, not for her at least. It was all fake, the expansion of the psyche within her's reminiscence. She didn't actually know or had experienced any of this before – the fire of a spicy crawfish, the thrilling inhale of smoke, dancing to a zydeco beat. It was her first time here, yet it felt like slipping on an old familiar glove, the sight of a childhood friend's face, the smell of a finished baking home-cooked meal. A passionate, yet faux response. The comparison to Remy was unnerving and she shied away from it.

And yet…

She knew Remy, knew him from more than the scattered ragtag of memories. She knew he loved Mardi Gras, spicy cooking, the warmth of his _belle ville_. (_beautiful city) _She knew that because, because he had let her know him.

And so she allowed his psyche to unfurl within her, reveling in the lavish feast for her senses and letting it tug her gently through the path to where she knew she'd find his family. And hopefully the key to his location.

Logan, watching her, felt a half-shudder as her movements became even more fluid, slipping through the crowd with an ease that was all too-familiar, lacking the aversion he knew Rogue had to invasions of personal space. His lips compressed. They better find that damned Cajun fast.

She knew the place as soon as she saw it; thick smooth walls almost a pale purple in reflected light. A lone lantern dangled beside the small neon sign, a compromise between tradition and modernity. A pole held up a balcony and she could remember _hanging up there, legs in the empty spaces, snickering at the crowds of tourists wit'_- she cut off the thought, recognizing the push as Remy's own nostalgia.

"This is the place," she announced, drawing her small crowd to the side of the building. She looked them over. Due to the nature of their search, they had their uniforms on under normal clothes, but they still stuck out like sore thumbs: Kitty's preppiness, Kurt's vaguely urban looseness, Scott's rigidness. Rogue had been strategic with a flattering purple long tied top with pointed tips and sleeves, over nice black pants. Her hair was up, arrayed to let the brunette camouflage the streak, and pale cloth gloves covered her hands.

"Yah need to stay outside."

"Why?" Scott's arms folded over his chest and he kept up his suspicious scanning of the crowd.

"Y' too conspicuous," she said with a frown, trying to ignore Kitty's cringe. "Behsides, weh can't all go in."

"I'm going vith you," Kurt insisted stubbornly before Scott could argue. Rogue reluctantly nodded, sensing a fight she could not win.

"Can y' change de image tah more low-key?" Kurt's face resolved and his hand went to his disguise watch as he angled himself behind them.

"I'm goin' in too Stripes."

She glanced at Logan, biker leather. "Yeah, guessed that. Jus' don't stay too close."

He snorted. "I ain't an amateur."

Scott's frown remained, but he agreed. "Fine, but if anything goes down-"

Rogue tapped her ear. "-y'll be the firs' ta know."

* * *

Rogue went in first, hesitating only a moment in the doorway to scan the place. Russet hair caught her eye and her heart twisted, before she meandered to the bar.

She'd counted on him being there.

She settled at the bar leaving two seats space, not glancing at him, instead gesturing to the bartender. Swiveling as she waited, she saw Kurt, now in a layered wife beater and darker overshirt complimented by darker features, and Logan enter in succession, heading easily for different parts of the room. Logan headed to the end of the bar and she felt a surge of gratitude for his backup.

"What's a gal gotta do ta get a drink 'round here?" she said, with just enough projection to hit the other man's ear. The bartender, a strapping, older man lacking the grizzle of Logan, eased to her side.

"Not dat much," he replied with good humor. "What's y' poison?"

"Scarlett O'Hara," she said, a hint of her own nostalgia making her voice waver just a bit. But she looked away, letting her eye settle on her target. He looked good, winking to a redhead in the corner as his fingers drummed a tune on the countertop. His chin bristled with a decent goatee, sharp features dancing with a subtle amusement she could detect, an undercurrent of humor. Emil.

She let her eyes flutter shut, planning exactly how to work this, letting Remy surface. The rush of affection was unmistakable but – _brothercousinbrothercousinbrocousincousinbro _– under the bar table she tensed a fist. _Bro or cousin, make up yah mind!_

Lapin.

The thump of her drink brought her back to awareness and she took it in hand, before shooting the bartender a hopeful look.

"Any chance y' seen a Cajun _homme_," she asked casually, "'bout six feet, gorgeous eyes, real looker, goes by Remy?" Last minute she decided on Remy instead of Gambit. Gambit was for work – and that wasn't what she wanted to portray.

The bartender was good. There was no reaction, just a firm head-shake. "Nope."

She gave a sizable sigh and within a minute, the bait was snatched up as Emil slid over into the chair next to her.

"Too bad _fille_," he crooned."Maybe anot'er _beau_ Cajun would do?"

"An' what would that _beau _Cajun's name be?" she returned coyly, letting a finger trail around the top of her drink.

"Emil." He grinned a toothy smile at her and her lips twisted.

"Wouldn't happen t' be Emil Lapin, would it?" she paused as his form tensed, though the smile remained. "Perhaps we might be able ta get a booth, have a nice chat?"

His eyes were wary, but he nodded before reflexively looking over his shoulder. And Remy had way too many memories of the exact 'uh-oh' look his face morphed into. Under his breath, he hissed out a curse.

She turned.

Blond flashed into her line of sight and Remy pitched forward so suddenly, she was completely overwhelmed – feeling the static of the charge that always laced him, the dimness adjusting to his sight, the avalanche of thoughts and memories – _**Belladonna**_. He lurched back just as suddenly, leaving her to desperately grip the jagged wood of the bar edge shakily.

_Coward_, she thought.

She didn't move as the woman reached them, Emil pasting on a bright grin, trying to step in front of Rogue. She was a vision of a deep blue dress that made the most of her cleavage and perfect figure.

"Ah the _belle donna_! What brings yah t'-"

Belladonna ignored him, her eyes on Rogue, a humorless, sharky grin stretching over her lips.

"Now what are y' doin' here, li'l X-Men? Rather far from y' home, _hein_?" Pale blue eyes flicked down Rogue's outfit before touching on her hair. At Rogue's side, Emil infinitesimally stiffened. So he hadn't realized…

"Not 'xactly," Rogue drawled back.

"Oh," a perfectly manicured hand came up to cover Bella's moue as her eyes snapped to Rogue's covered hands. "Dat's right, y' be de Southe'n, de _fille_ who can't touch wit' dat deadly skin, Rascal, _non_," she snapped her fingers, "Tramp."

"Rogue," gritted teeth were echoed by narrowed eyes. "An' ain't dat be a tad hypocritical coming from the 'ssassin _fille_?"

"Princess," Belladonna corrected with a smirk, "princess for a prince."

Rogue bared her teeth. "Guess I jus' stole yahr crown then." She felt the memory of his touch still impressed on her skin.

Bella's complexion hardened into a sneer. "Oh, please _petite_, y' t'ink y'r anymore den a novel toy tah Remy wit' dose powers? I _know_ hi-"

Maybe she expected Rogue to actually wait for her to finish her sentence. Maybe she was too focused on sneering in Rogue's face. Maybe she just thought Rogue wouldn't have the guts to do it.

But Rogue had heard that exact taunt in her head one too many times to stand it coming from – **de firs' **_**fille**_** I eva loved –**

Rogue's right fist caught her completely unprepared, impacting on that pure perfect porcelain skin, and sending Belladonna sprawling.

Reflexes kicked in and the knife that flashed in the blonde's hand was only detoured from Rogue's heart by Logan's swift grab of her arm. Bella hissed, hatred causing her eyes to darken, but didn't try to move as three adamantium claws extended within inches of her throat.

"Rogue-" Logan warned, but she ignored him, focusing only on the downed blond.

"For yaur information, ah know Remy too." She flicked her fingers tauntingly. "In a way y' can't compare. An' 'fore y' get pissy, he ain't here, ah jus' wanted tah meet his family."

Lapin's hand caught her elbow and he rushed out an insincere apology before hurrying her away. Logan warily released the assassin, keeping his claws out before following them.

Kurt met them at the door. "Who was zat?"

"Ex-fiancé," Rogue bit out.

"Ex-fi- who ze hell would agree to marry Gambit?"

She glared for no good reason and didn't reply, but Lapin broke in anyway the next second, swiveling on her as soon as they cleared the entrance of the club.

"What de hell are y' doin' here?" His eyes flicked over to Scott and Kitty as they immediately emerged from the shadows.

"Gambit went missing," Scott said, immediately taking command.

Emil's grip on Rogue loosened as confusion colored his features. He chanced a look at Rogue. "Well he ain't here, _alors pas_." _(course not)_

Scott's eyes flicked between the two. "Why are you so confident?"

"Don't de _fille _know?"

Kurt focused on the more immediate matter.

"Vhy are ve here if Gambit iz not?"

"We're here to find out where he is," her eyes flew back to Emil, whose hands flew up.

"_Oh, je ne sais pas où-_" _(I don't know where-)_

"You were there the firs' time he lost control, _cousin_." The abruptness struck Emil like a blow to solar plexus and the color leeched from his face. It wasn't a question, but that was answer enough. "He didn't know where to go, what ta do – exile hangin' over his head-"

"Exile?" Kitty and Scott chorused in unison, but Rogue ignored them.

"-so yah helped him. Y' good wit' computers." Her inflection changed again and something shifted in Emil's face. Slowly he nodded as if mesmerized. "Yah helped him find _him_-"

"Sinister," he whispered.

There was a moment of silence before Kitty let out a nervous laugh and hugged herself. "Great, that's not ominous at all."

"Sinister?" Scott repeated.

Emil blinked, his face shuttering again.

"Where cin we find him?"

"He ain't de type y' go lookin' for," he hedged. "Y' be best leavin' him alone-"

Rogue took a step closer to him, eyes looking with his despite his attempts to evade. "Remy lost control again an' we don't know why. He took off – an' he needs tah be found. _Tu me comprends_?" (_You understand me?)_

He looked around at the assorted group, the concern, the determination, and seemed to fold before them. He finally sighed, shrugging his shoulders.

"Name's Nathaniel Essex, big-time mutant genetist. Mutant hisself too. Not de safest _homme_ to be 'round, _mais_…"

Rogue could still taste Remy's terror, spiderwebbing at the very nerves of her senses. She nodded.

"Where's he located?"

Emil sighed again, but his eyes were distant, already figuring out how to access what he would need.

"Don't got de info on meh. Gonna have tah follow me." In a show of trust, he turned and starting heading down the street. Rogue started to follow when Scott's hand grasped her arm.

"Rogue-" But she cut him off.

"Better do as the man says," and she slipped away after the thief slinking into shadows.

* * *

Rogue shifted uneasily. Emil had disappeared into one of the rooms of the mansion he'd brought them to, busy with hardware he preferred they not view. Uneasy quiet had descended on the group, long after she'd finally been cornered and forced to reveal some of the sketchy circumstances behind Remy's exile. She'd glossed over Belladonna, just that he'd lost control and they'd exiled him in fear. The deaths – it was hardly her place to inform them of that she told herself.

Scott had asked why she couldn't just bring them to this Essex figure – she was almost darkly amused at the fact Scott refused to call him Sinister, after all the other strange characters they'd faced. She'd put him off though with the fact she couldn't just pull up any information she wanted at the drop of a hat. Memories could be hard to access and it was possible Sinister had moved since Gambit's last interaction with him, something Gambit could receive updated information on through connections.

It had placated him, but Logan had watched her with slit-eyes and she knew her evasion was clear to him. But he didn't call her on it – and for the first time in a long while, she appreciated that.

Actually, Remy's psyche was actively resisting any of her attempts to learn of Sinister. Every time she tried his mind went into a whirlwind of contrary memory flashes, thoughts and emotions. All she could clearly discern was an overpowering sense of dread.

Remy didn't want her anywhere near Sinister.

And though the idea of him as protective made something in her expand to the point of pain, the fact he was currently _associated _with him and had just thrown himself in the mouth of the beast made the pain fire knifed.

Lost in her thoughts, she completely missed the front door open.

"Who are y'all?" Shrewd brown eyes took in the group sprawled around and a hand reflexively came to rest by his jacket. Logan immediately tensed, but Rogue quickly stepped forward, the reaction of Remy within unable to be confused.

"Yah must be Henri, Remy's _frère_," she said casually, struggling against the flood of emotion that urged her to almost reach out and hug him. It had been a long time since Remy had been in his brother's presence. Her eyes instead settled on his almost-handlebar mustache. "An' what is it 'bout facial hai' an' the LeBeaus?"

Henri's hand drifted down from the waist of his leather jacket, but he didn't smile in return. "Y' know me, _mais_ I still don't know y'."

Rogue stuck out her hand, stretching her lips into a grin. "Rogue of de X-Men." Henri's face cleared and he re-examined them, obviously matching names and faces. No family as organized as the LeBeaus would fail to keep tabs on an errant member and she was glad the fact once again eased their way.

He shook her hand, taking in the gloves without a word. "Thought de X-Men stayed north?" he asked warily after the rest of the introductions were completed.

Scott had to clarify. "We go where we're needed and with Gambit missing, we felt it necessary to come to you."

Henri's face betrayed no shock. "Gambit missing? Don' sound like a real _mystère _t' _moi_. Long trip f' just dat."

"It is afta he loses control." Henri's head jerked and Rogue knew he hadn't expected that – but before he could ask more questions, Emil finally reappeared, holding a sheet of paper before him. Distracted, he didn't even look up.

"I got a place dat I'm like 85 percent sure dat he be, _mais _Essex got lots everywhe-" It was at that moment Lapin finally registered the extra person in the room and wavered, before grinning like a caught Cajun with his hand in the panty drawer. "Eh Henri-"

"I see y' already got help," Henri said smoothly.

Emil straightened. "_C'est pour Remy_." _(It's for Remy)_ Their eyes met and something akin to understanding passed between them. Rogue felt her stomach twist at the obvious show of devotion and looked away as Henri gestured they needed to talk.

They walked out of earshot, even that of Logan's (Emil was obviously well-informed), and silence descended again, though Rogue caught all of them at least once sneaking a look at Remy's 'brother.' She wondered if they knew it was an adopted relation – and was struck again at the fact he allowed her to know him. How had she not realized the privilege?

She missed Henri's entrance again.

"Glad we cin help," Rogue looked up and Scott nodded, returning to leader mode.

"We appreciate your cooperation-"

"_Un condition_," Henri interrupted. Emil grinned behind him and Rogue had a sinking feeling she knew what it was. "Emil goes wit'."

Scott frowned. "No offense, but considering the danger-"

"He be no mutant, _mais_ a t'ief always know how t' take care o' hisself. Ain't gotta worry y'self."

Scott still hesitated, but Logan snorted. "Long as you don't come whining to us if he gets a limb blown off."

Rogue had to give him credit, the smile never faltered on Emil's face, even as Scott shot Logan an irritated look. "Fine. I guess having someone with Gambit's skills will be helpful."

"_Allons-y!_" (_Let's go!) _Emil announced, sidling over to Kitty and giving her a lavish wink. "De Lapin never sad t' go on a trip wit' such _belle filles_."

Rogue groaned. This was going to be a long trip.

* * *

Emil was impressed. The nice 'little' ride they had was truly impressive and he decided to scope out the Xavier Institute's funds later with a finer examination. He didn't remember seeing this on the list.

He lovingly caressed the controls nearest him only to get a growl from Wolverine. "Hands off Cajun."

He gave an innocent grin and put his hands up. Wolverine's eyes just narrowed before returning to preparing the jet for take-off. Oy, the _homme _was seriously touchy.

His eyes wandered to the rest of the team who were discussing how to approach Essex. Cyclops was advocating calling in Jean, his girlfriend apparently, since Essex was a powerful telepath. The others were nodding, but de Rogue didn't look too thrilled. A smile inched over his face and he decided to perk her up. Facing her, he gave her the grin Remy had once assured him was just as charming as his own.

"So _chérie_-"

"Don't call me that!" the aggressive snap caught him off-guard, but Rogue turned away to the window. Glancing beyond her, he saw her brunette friend mouth something. He squinted: 'Remy.'

"Ah," he mused aloud. "_Desolé_, I be slow sometimes _catin_." (Cajun term of endearment) She gave a shrug to the window. "I know y' be missin' y' _garçon, mais_-"

"He ain't m'-" she caught herself, eyes going distant and he had to resist the urge to check behind him to what was catching her attention. After a second, she glanced over to Logan with a sudden frown, but distractedly went on. "Weh not dating."

Emil raised an eyebrow, but no one else protested the claim, though he saw Shadowcat bite her lip again.

"Whateva y' say." Rogue didn't react and he had the feeling she had gone away inside herself again. She seemed to do that a lot.

Taking advantage of her preoccupation, he examined her, recalling Belladonna's words. He had no doubt she and Remy were somehow involved, though exactly how given her mutation made him wonder. And then he remembered the Egyptian specialty item.

Even since Remy had started to travel seriously, Emil had had a habit of tracking his purchases – a habit he'd enlarged once Remy had been exiled. It was his way of making sure Remy was doing okay, wherever he was, and he was reasonably sure Remy was aware of the surveillance. He'd been surprised by the buy of the 600 cotton thread sheet though. It was an odd purchase by itself and the accompanying satin gloves had completely perplexed him.

Obviously though, Remy had been making some very good use of the acquisitions and he smirked. But then it sagged. Why did she not crow it from the rooftops? Remy didn't go to such lengths for just anyone.

Suitably troubled, Emil's hand went for his pack without thought with the same ease of his cousin, even if he could hardly light up with the same flare.

Cylops and Wolverine noticed at the same time. "There's no smoking in here," Cyclops snapped while Shadowcat made a face. Emil flicked out his hand, giving an innocent grin.

"Gotta warn an _homme _'bout rules like dat-"

A hand shot out and snatched the cigarette, taking an indulgent drag. Emil wasn't sure who was more shocked – himself or Cyclops as Rogue blew out the smoke with a sultry twist of her mouth, one Emil felt was eerily familiar.

"Rogue?" Cyclops croaked and Emil felt a stab of amusement.

"Y' wanted one, coulda jus' asked _catin._"

"Don' call me dat," she said lazily, drawling in a way that made Emil's spine prickle.

"She doesn't smoke!" Cyclops protested, though Emil couldn't be sure who to. He raised an eyebrow and Cyclops scowled.

"_Calme_ Cy-" she cut herself off, giving her head a shake and lowering the cigarette. "Scott. Remy's just restless – an' the cig helps."

Emil felt a sudden cold flush fill his insides; he'd had his suspicions, but to hear her say-

"Y' absorbed him." He wasn't aware he said it out loud until Rogue gave him a direct look, taking another drag before surrendering the cigarette to Cyclops.

"How else did yah think ah found yah so easily?"

He didn't want to consider the implications, but he had to. "So y' got him up dere, all his memories an'-" he didn't know how to finish the sentence and mercifully, she cut in.

"'s like havin' a copy of him in mah head. An' believe meh, he's almost just as uncooperative up dere as he is in real life." He nodded like he understood, feeling incredibly squeamish. "Bu' he ain't tryin' t' take ova mah body, so 's all _bon_." His smile probably looked seasick, but at least he tried. With the guts that had allowed him to stick by his cousin during his 'I-make-everything-go-boom' phase, he tilted his head, sifting through the past hour for clues.

The bar…

"Dat punch," Emil asked curiously after a minute. "Was tha' Remy?"

Something flickered in Rogue's eyes, but she shook her head. "Nope, that's was all me."

She lingered for a minute before a smirk spread across her mouth. "But Remy, he says it was a nice throw."

Emil didn't doubt it – and with a sinking stomach, he wondered again, just what he was getting into.

* * *

"Y' said y'd fixed it so it wouldn't happen again." The voice, speaking out of the shadows, was tense.

"Ah, Gambit, you've become blunter since we last spoke." Sinister turned from his lab table and grinned. Gambit remained silent, remaining at the edge of the shadows.

"Now, my dear boy, did you really think I'd perform such an, investment without making sure it would be properly appreciated?" Gambit didn't dispute Sinister's right.

"An' a phone call was too much effort?"

"I gave you plenty of time. I waited for Lehnsherr to resurface, renounce your contract and all his cherished plans." His mocking was sickening, even if Gambit had professed similar disdain for 'Joseph.' "I made sure he had enough time to relay the fact to you – so imagine my surprise when I just happened to run across Creed, stating you were still residing with the X-Men instead of returning to my operations."

Gambit lit a cigarette, his motions more abrupt than usual. "What do y' want Essex?"

Sinister's eyes glinted. "Ever heard of the Morlocks?"

And Sinister smiled.

* * *

_You are calm and reposed. _

_Let your beauty unfold. _

_Pale white, like the skin stretched over your bones. _

_Spring keeps you ever close. _

_You are second hand smoke. _

_You are so fragile and thin. _

_Standing trial for your sins. _

_Holding onto yourself the best you can. _

_You are the smell before rain. _

_You are the blood in my veins._

* * *

Selina – you reviewed like every chapter - thank you!/ Lol about the goatee. /You keep thanking me! /So agree - "It's all fun and games until someone gets hurt..."/ Ahhh the confusion of who's using who or starting to develop real feelings; something I hate in fanfiction is when one thing suddenly provides utter and complete revelation and someone's feelings do a complete 180. It's sooo unrealistic. With these two, neither consider a real relationship possible and the games they play just end up getting them more entangled despite themselves./ "It's so easy to let some mask fall without even realizing it and then have reality come crashing around us." I don't think it's easy. Remy and Rogue had to go through a good amount before they got to the point of dropping those masks – but I do think intimacy makes us drop masks far more quickly than without it./ The Boy song is amazing, I think I'm going to try to work it in. Love Neruda./ You have to like angst to really do Romy – their original characters in the comics are simply too immersed in it./ HUGE –blush- -cough- orgasmic?!/ My favorite quote: "Nothing in life comes easy. Rogue and Remy are just...they are like a house of cards." One about to come tumbling down…


	19. No Hole deep enough

So the Morlocks, dun,dun,dun… The punch of Bella was Rogue working out her frustration and anger over the bungling over her relationship with Remy, not to mention attacking her own insecurities. We're getting to the end! Climax coming next!

* * *

Thanks to all my lovely reviewers!

Ele-chan (it takes longer to claim abandonment!), cocopucks, allyg1990 (I was hoping I included them well! I don't know them too well!), thriller, mercuriancat, Sarcastic Bubble Wrap, Google Girl11 (LOL! Remember chibi Remy or not, she doesn't have access to everything! I feel the same way about some other authors! Too-easy happy endings are no fun...), Ele Goddess of Elements, X-Storm (thanks!), k, roguerulez, Bellasaurs (hmm...thanks for the rec), lovestoread, Mokana-chan (:)), allyg1990, tfobmv18, flaming-mod (And the whole garcon point is revelatory for Rogue – catch how she stopped her instinctual 'he's not my boy-friend' to glance at Wolverine), ashez2ashes (updating either does motivate me for the other), ishandahalf (dun,dun,dun. Glad you like Lapin, though I looked up his pic and –blegh-. He's better in ff! Absolutely – Rogue's getting to know Remy from the inside-out somewhat), Valerie J (about as bad as we are at updating, -hint,hint- And I think Evo did handle it better, but unevenly), New Moon Night.

ShadowFax999 - Withdrawal, oy! Sometimes it's more productive not to focus on the issues and just have the characters forced to act. Actions speak louder than words after all… And it was more than horniness as you'll see… Oy, I'm not going to do that dramatic! And that blond is for the sequel!!

Wiccamage - Thanks! I love progress! Rogue's slide into Remy is temporary, the aftermath of her absorption of him and inner Remy trying to control the other psyches, not to mention she's trying to tap into him to navigate New Orleans.),

Selina - -big grin-! You're the second to love Kurt's line – I had to have someone say it. I loved Kitty's line, just some of the bad guys' names are so melodramatic! Actually, she woke up to see him gone, sorry no interaction. LOL to crossing fingers & toes!

TheLetter5 - I love that you caught that! He is horrified by the proof of her absorption, but still wants her badly! Exactly – this chapter is about her interacting with Remy on an even deeper level, even though he's not physically there. The inverse of the past few weeks. Yes, cherie is such a symbol here. I loved the smoking scene, I think it was my favorite part.

* * *

Honorary Mention: Chica De Los Ojos Cafe - "In trying to protect each other and themselves, they put each other in more danger. Ironic much?" That's a life irony that's sooo common!! And…

"How can you deny your feelings for someone when you so want to strangle someone else who meant so much to the person you are in love with?" LOL!

Best quote: TheLetter5 - "I know if I was in her position (hehe, position . . . whe) I'd be dancing and singing to the forest animals like I was the star of a Disney movie." LOL!

* * *

TWO CHAPTERS TO GO!

* * *

20) No hole deep enough

* * *

-

-

Mutants were the highest evolution of man, the pinnacle, the summit of the Egyptian pyramids built on the back of the masses below, inferior and able to be ruled over.

Not that Essex truly cared; that was more Magneto's megalomania.

Instead, Essex appreciated the beauty of the construction. Mutant genes were more complex, more complete than mere mortals. Entwined in the glowing double helix were secrets waiting to be discovered, to be pushed, to be toyed with.

Potential.

That was what Essex saw when he looked into the face of a mutant. Sheer, raw potential.

And he was the one who could make the most of it – even if he had to dissect every last mutant to do so.

What was cost for the advance of science, knowledge, the full realization of potential?

-

It was a dingy line of warehouses, the outlines barely discernable in the pre-dawn gloom. There was the faintest hint of salt in the air – though the district wasn't a wharf, they weren't far from Lake Michigan. Lapin shivered; this far north, November had a greater bite, but he didn't complain.

The team descended the ramp of the Blackbird cautiously, scanning the quiet periphery as the muted hum of the engines shut off. For discretions' sake, they'd set down in the very middle of the district on a roof, the engines of the conveniently-sized Blackbird whirring on silent. But the taint of red on the horizon warned they hadn't much time.

"Which one is it?"

Cyclops, like always, cut straight to the point and Lapin smiled, making a sweeping gesture. "Take y' pick. Dey all unda Essex's name."

"Fabulous," Cyclops muttered, but immediately motioned. "We break up into teams of two except-"

"Who do I go wit'?" They were an even number including Lapin and the 'except' could only mean one thing.

Cyclops scowled. "I'd prefer you stay here-"

"He ain't gonna listen," Rogue said wryly, adjusting her uniform. They'd all changed on the way. "An' yah seriously wanta leave him in dis hot ride?" she stuck her thumb back at the Blackbird. "We liable to come back an' find it on the nearest black market."

"No way." Lapin's teeth flashed in the dim light. "Dis baby's just beggin' f' a joyride." His fingers twitched.

Wolverine scowled and Cyclops sighed irritably. "Fine. You're with Wolverine," he faced the other man's snarl, "You'd be the best to keep him out of trouble." He turned to the others, "Rogue and Nightcrawler, you take the north, the furthest end, and work your ways south. Shadowcat, you and I will take the middle warehouses, heading north to meet up with you two." Gesturing in the air, he sketched a rough approximation of the plan. "Wolverine-"

"Bayou bunny and I take the southern end, got it."

"Bayou bunny?" Cyclops repeated. Nightcrawler and Shadowcat took one look at each other and began to snicker.

"Well, lapin does mean rabbit," Rogue said, trying to sound serious.

Cyclops knew an attack of pre-fight nerves when he saw one, uncontrollable laughter that would just delay what they'd come to do. "Never mind; anyone spots Essex, you call the rest. Do not engage if possible." He locked eyes with each of them in turn, managing to get serious nods from everyone but Wolverine. "Let's go."

They broke up. Turning south, Wolverine extended a hand. "After you, bayou bunny."

Lapin ignored the comment, but he heard giggling for three straight minutes afterward.

-

It didn't take long to locate the furthest warehouse; Lapin had been thorough in his research and a thief never did a job without memorizing blueprints. Spotting the door, Wolverine's claws seemed to reflexively snickt out. Lapin winced despite himself, before brazenly pushing them to the side.

"No 'ffense to y' stealth abilities, but maybe y' let me handle dis?"

Wolverine grunted and left the claws out. Nimble fingers edged the paneling by the door before finally uncovering the camouflaged key panel. Opening it, Lapin gave a low whistle, examining the uncovered panel. "Pretty high-tech f' a _innocent_ storehouse."

"Can you crack it?"

"Wit'out settin' off any 'larms?" He carefully replaced the top. "Not wit'out prep." It was lucky that the other two groups had no such handicap, with the assistance of Nightcrawler and Shadowcat, they had little need for an actual entrance. "But dat don' mean we can't get in."

Taking a few steps back, Lapin's eyes swept high, to the few windows scattered near the top of the building. He mentally noted the most easily accessible and made his way over. Noting his gaze, Wolverine followed. With a flick of his wrist, the thief spun open an adamantium bo-staff that was all too familiar. The X-Men's eyebrow arched.

"What do they do, hand those out like confetti down there?" he asked archly.

"'ctually jus' a _familie _t'ing." Carefully aiming, a single button push launched the grappling hook. It sunk into metal wall right next to the window. Lapin's eyes glinted with triumph, but Wolverine just looked both ways.

"Ain't time to gloat Cajun. Guards likely changing shift 'round now."

Lapin nodded and activated some kind of release mechanism, drawing the man up to the window, where he managed to perch. Wolverine squinted up at him, but even with advanced sight in the pre-dawn light he could only see a blurry outline of quick fingers. There was some kind of puff from the staff and he thought he saw the man fiddling with neon red beams, a sight that did not build confidence.

"Cajun-"

"_Et _viola!" The window sprung open. Wolverine cocked his head, but he heard nothing indicating any alarms.

Lapin descended grandly with a wide smile, before presenting Wolverine with the staff.

"After y', _Monsieur_ Claws."

Wolverine just grunted.

-

Even before his feet hit the floor, Wolverine's senses were up and humming. He breathed in the stale air of the warehouse, letting it rest on his palate, categorizing a thousand different smells. Behind him, Lapin landed with light feet and suitably attuned, he could tell the moment Lapin registered the sight before them. Lines of complicated machinery, with a far distant glow that made Wolverine's stomach tighten with half-forgotten reminiscence. Lapin moved forward, scoping out the aisle before them.

"Funny how dis all ain't in de blueprints. T'ink we hit de jackpot?" he whispered.

Wolverine took a step forward. He'd never claimed to be able to sense a telepath, but the presence of a strong mutant always sent his skin crawling – the more powerful, the greater the effect.

"He's here."

Lapin glanced back at him. "Jus' my luck," the thief muttered.

They moved down the row cautiously, Lapin taking in everything. "Nice setup he's got," he muttered. "Theoren woul' kill t' be here." Wolverine ignored him as they came up to the open center of the building. Wolverine saw the large glass cylinders – pods, filled with liquid and his entire mind shuttered. Lapin took a step beyond him. "What de hell is he up to?" the whisper seemed abnormally loud and Wolverine tensed. Something was wrong.

It was the scuffing of a boot, almost covered by the insistent buzz of a hundred different machines, which alerted Wolverine. He swiveled and his adjusted eyes took in five guards, armed with assault rifles all cocked.

His teeth ground as Lapin turned as well. Lapin raised his arms, but Wolverine automatically went into a defensive crouch.

"So you two are my intruders…"

Essex appeared from the shadows, his simple black slacks and form-fitting top having easily melded, the men angling to let him through. Moses before the fucking Red Sea; Wolverine's lip curled. Towering over the crouched guards, he was more heavy-set than Wolverine imagined, his top showcasing his heavily muscled arms, an ominous sign. Simple telepaths didn't rely on their physical bodies.

Lapin's lips stretched into an easy grin as he stage-whispered, "De first time I get caught, _j'jure_." _(I swear)_

"Your presence was detected immediately – Mr. Lapin, isn't it?" The man's head cocked just slightly and his eyes glowed, a pure red sheen unadorned by any sign of irises or corneas. The pale diamond on his forehead, which Wolverine had taken to be a tattoo, glimmered. Lapin tensed minutely and Wolverine's respect for him rose grudgingly. It took real balls to act cool in front of a telepath.

"Oh, Remy talk 'bout m', did he?" Lapin's grin didn't falter.

Silence, before a grin crept unto the man's face as he folded his arms. The guards kept their weapons trained on the intruders. Wolverine calculated the odds. The ones on their knees were bound to be slow to rise; they must've been there for a while –

"So you want some info on Mr. LeBeau," Essex sounded amused. "And you thought I'd what, volunteer it?"

Lapin spread his hands wide. "Lapin ready to say please."

Beryl eyes flicked to his companion, a smirk creasing the side of his mouth. "And you Wolverine?"

"Not a chance."

Several things happened at the same time.

Wolverine surged forward, dodging the first round of shots as the guards reacted. Lapin sprang into a head stand, before tumbling next to one of the machines. Wolverine hit the row like a line backer. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Lapin drop something on the nearest machine, causing sparks to fly. The next few moments were a chaos of fists and legs as the guards converged, the close quarters rendering their weapons unwieldy. But there was never any question as to the winner of the match.

With a last uppercut, Wolverine brought the last man down in time to see Essex, eyes shining in a way Wolverine would bet meant he was pissed off, bending down to touch the forehead of a prone, unconscious Lapin. He bit off a swear. His eyes fell on the last guard he'd been fighting – military garb. He grabbed the first canister he found on him.

"Essex!" The man looked up – Wolverine inwardly grimaced; with the black versus the stark white of skin, he looked like he belonged in a horror flick. A bad one. "Catch!"

He pulled the pin and chucked it hard, just a smidge to the right of Essex. The geneticist, like any sane person, immediately moved out of its way – away from Lapin. Wolverine took off in dead sprint, but couldn't reach the Cajun before the canister impacted with the machinery Lapin had already fried.

The next thing Wolverine knew, smoke was everywhere, but his fingers hit the edge of Lapin's coat and he dragged the man away. Rapidly, his senses took in the scene, even as he hefted Lapin up in a fireman's hold. He could only smell and see the smoke, but he couldn't hear any fire – must have been just a smoke grenade. Good for a getaway though. Trusting his sense of direction, he wound his way around the counters.

"You really think you can hide from me?" There was an edge of mocking as the voice echoed eerily – and not completely physically.

He hated telepaths.

The next few moments he could feel the bare brush of Essex probing for him. Unconsciously, he sent his body into standby mode, keeping his breath deep and controlled, slowing his heart rate, clearing his mind. The non-psychic X-Men were prepped for the possibility of psychic assault, but it was purely defensive. And most really only had privacy screens instead of shields. However, Wolverine was loathe to leave weaknesses wide open and so he had one of the strongest shields a non-psychic could have, thanks in no little part to Xavier.

He slowly picked his way to a more secure area. He needed to be out of easy earshot, but still close enough to keep track of Essex.

It galled him to call for back-up, but the Cajun wasn't even an X-Men. Wolverine tapped his ear, lowering his voice, "He's here; Lapin's down."

Cyclops didn't bother pointing out they weren't supposed to have confronted Essex. "We'll be right there."

Faintly, he began to hear echoes as the guards began to stir. "Find them now," he heard Essex command.

Wonderful. More people to avoid.

Normally, he would barely consider this a workout, but he had a liability this time. He double-checked their hiding spot. Stay or leave. Chance discovery here or discovery as he tried to find his way through a place he didn't know the layout, but could track his pursuers. He grit his teeth. Hiding went against his nature – he eyed Lapin's limp form. Lapin would safe enough here on his own…

The hairs on the back of his neck rose as he heard the sound of footsteps. "Fe, fie, fo, fum," there was no real choice, "I sense the presence of a Canadian."

Wolverine crept down the row, angling to get behind the scientist. He wasn't prepared for the sudden vise around his neck as an invisible force dragged him upward.

"So I did," Essex stepped out of the shadows with a grin Wolverine was really coming to hate. His struggling against the psychic bonds only served to further amuse the scientist. His claws came out instinctively. Red eyes glinted speculatively.

"You're certainly an interesting specimen," he murmured. "That metal's not organic – I suppose you didn't upgrade yourself though. I'd love to see exactly how that works-" Wolverine barred his teeth, even as he fought the blackness enfolding the edges of his vision, and Essex tisked. "Too bad you all can't be as accommodating as Mr. LeBeau," he let the words linger as he raised his other hand. The outline of it began to shimmer, then glow. "Thankfully, I know many ways to make one more pliable."

Wolverine had spent enough time around Boom-Boom and Gambit to know energy buildup when he saw it.

Well, this was just getting better and better.

"Wolverine?"

The feral in him snarled as he braced himself.

"Wolverine, where are you? Wolverine, what's your status?"

The glow became a glaring star, blinding – but Wolverine couldn't take his eyes off it.

He hit the ground with enough force to knock the air out of him. It took him a second to realize that the explosion ringing in his ears hadn't come from impact – but rather a flare of red far larger than Essex's hand blast. The scientist turned to see a mutilated, sizzling pile of machinery tilting dangerously only a row or two away from them.

The cavalry had arrived.

Essex forced a grim smile as Wolverine scrambled to his feet. He waved his hand and Wolverine slammed into the counter behind him with enough force to inflict an impression. In the time it took Wolverine to shake it off, Essex had disappeared in the direction of the blast.

He angled through the counters, grimly counting that Essex would be more distracted this time. Creeping around a machine almost twice his height that was leaning rather threateningly, he heard the confrontation before he saw it.

"I see a whole squad is here, should I be flattered?"

There was another explosion; he looked to see Cyclops' hand still on his visor, but no damage. A canceling out – he'd have to tell Cyke to turn up the voltage. Kitty was crouched beside Cyclops, but the boy waved her away. She went through the closest machine and Wolverine had to smirk as it sparked in response.

With all the tech damage they were raking in, the damn scientist had to be pissed.

"I suppose you're the leader."

The next minute, he remembered why that wasn't a good thing.

"Look, all we want is to talk to you-" Cyclops was saying.

"Ah, but talking is so over-rated, don't you think?" Cyclops' visor hand froze - the boy jerked like someone was playing with puppet strings, an inarticulate moan coming out of his mouth. Wolverine knew a psychic attack when he saw one.

Damn.

It was pure reflex that launched him from the background, teeth gritted with claws at ready. This time, Essex almost negligently brought up a hand and let loose with his energy ball – that Wolverine only barely dodged. He never loosened his hold on Cyclops.

Freaking spooks.

He kept momentum though. He sheathed a set of claws, coming at Essex from the other side. His punch was mid-release when Essex's head snapped up – neatly colliding with an adamantium-laced fist. Wolverine never tired of the sound of flesh hitting his reinforced flesh, especially when it finally sent the psychic, telekinetic and damn annoying scientist stumbling. Cyclops slumped to the floor, his breathing harsh and uneven.

And centered in the wall Cyclops had broke through, looking really, really pissed off, was one furious redhead. Jean Gray, the girlfriend, had arrived – and she really needed a codename.

"No one invades my fiancée's mind!"

God bless spooks.

He only took a minute to admire her righteous fury, hair splayed with telekinetic fervor, in favor of pummeling Essex while he had the advantage. It wasn't for long; he managed to ground Essex's face into the floor and get a hit to the solar plexus. The scientist's hand began to glow belatedly; Wolverine pinned his arm, but the blast didn't dissipate. He realized too late Essex was going to let it explode.

His vision disappeared into a haze of white.

-

Looks like they'd been the last to arrive to the party.

A cry from Shadowcat alerted them to where she was tangling with a group of khaki-clad guys with guns. She played peek-a-boo with the group, jumping in and out of counters – managing to drag one gun with her and leave it sticking handle up tauntingly. Nightcrawler disappeared with a sulfurous cloud, landing right behind one guard and whipping his tail to grab the man's gun when he turned in bewilderment. His appearance, in all its blue-furred glory, only got muttered swears from the other still-armed men.

Apparently having a boss with glowing red eyes had somewhat jaded them, Rogue reflected. The two escape experts seemed to have the situation under control and she let herself take in the rest of the tableau, making sure she was out of eyeshot of the main combatants.

Jean and Sinister were facing off, the pose of her hands to her head echoed by the shine of his diamond, both intently focusing on the other. Cyclops was kneeling by her feet, pale and sweating – Rogue felt a stab of concern, but she breathed it out. Whatever attack he'd undergone, it looked like Jean had come, guns blazing.

She nearly jumped when a snarling Wolverine pounced on Sinister – or at least tried, Sinister sending a barrage of small blasts at him. Wolverine managed to dodge the first few, stoically absorbing those he couldn't. He began to circle at Sinister's back again, jabbing, feinting with his claws, only to dance away when Sinister sent any concentration his way.

They were at stalemate. Wolverine was having difficulty getting close to Sinister and Jean was beginning to tire – her hands pushed against her forehead with enough force Rogue could almost see the impressions. And they said guys weren't able to multi-task.

She blew out a breath and slipped her glove off, reinforcing her mental walls. Grimly she waited for Wolverine to charge again.

It had been a hazy realization, but Rogue had known it would come to this. Sinister wasn't going to give them any information willingly. He was too strong for Jean to just 'pick it up' from his mind. And he had more stamina than they'd counted on.

Wolverine charged – and even as Sinister deflected him, just as she knew he would, she was racing across the ground fast fast and he reached out his hand, still sparking – and she made contact.

Her skin sucked.

She managed to wrap her hand around his before his mind cascaded into her own.

He was wild, free-wheeling – _he knew about the energy-stealing girl, throw her off! _– she wouldn't let him go, not until he told her – _taking my energy, my mind I won't give it to you _– he had to, he had to, it was she who was in control _– looking for what? burns _– Remy, she had to remember, what did he know? _You think you can take me little girl!_

She couldn't see, couldn't hear – pounding of blood, all white – screams echoed as she felt his mind try to escape her – no, I won't let you go!

She never saw his hands groping, the joint handshake that began to glow – but she could feel the energy – coursing, coursing, in in in out out – wait, she knew that sensation – Remyremyremyremy _**everyt'ing I touched blew up**_ –

Rogue let go.

And the world shook.

-

"Everyone," Cyclops' voice rasped; he cleared it. "Count off."

"Shadowcat," very pale, the usually upbeat X-Man phased through the closest sections of wall, skirting the now blockaded hole Cyclops had so recently created.

"Nightcrawler," acrobatically, he swung out of the high rafters, teleporting to land on the ground. He rested gingerly on his right leg.

"Jean Gray." Dust-smudged, she didn't move from her spot with Cyclops' arm slung over hers, half-supporting his weight – though who exactly was being supported could be debated.

There was a shaky laugh and heads turned. "So redheads don' need no funny names?" Lapin smiled at the dirty looks he received, not moving from his spot splayed against something that had probably been very expensive, which had served as his impromptu bunker. Very expensive in the days it had been recognizable, but Lapin's still scrambled mind didn't bother to ponder it.

Cyclops relaxed just a tad. Extricating Lapin's body from the mess was not something he'd been looking forward to. "The guards?"

Kitty gestured to outside. "I managed to drag two on my way out-"

"-I got ze rest," Nightcrawler finished, before looking up. "Not sure how ze are going tuo get down though." Jean cracked a tired smile at that; she'd shielded herself and Cyclops as best she could. Cyclops resumed the count, silently dreading the last call. He didn't bother asking about Essex; he knew through Jean that the telepath was long gone.

"Wolverine?"

"She's okay," the terse words sent them all scrambling, picking their way among the debris. Clearing the last uprooted machine, an entire twenty yards was polished clean, like burnished steel. Shadowcat inhaled sharply.

Wolverine crouched near the center of the cleared floor, burns and cuts healing before their eyes. Rogue was on her knees, but miraculously unscathed. She was shaking, gritting her teeth and clawing the ground, her hands shimmering warningly. "Such plans, such plans I-he has for him, Dieu, Remy doesn't, _Gambit_, doesn't know what I've, he's got planned," her breath was coming out short and jerky, on the verge of hyperventilation. Carefully, Wolverine laid his hand on her covered shoulder.

"Breath, Rogue." Rogue tensed, then forcefully relaxed, though her breath was still gasping.

Cyclops knelt down, forcing himself not to flinch, trying to engage Rogue's eyes. "What's going on Rogue?"

"Morlocks," Rogue finally breathed.

Cyclops' face, though haggard, immediately set in stone.

"Everyone on the jet. Now."

-

**He always kept an eye on possible mutant occurrences. Human news had no understanding of mutants – most mutants tried to keep under the radar, so when unexplained phenomena ended up on the nightly news, he always sent out his feelers to be informed. It was only the powerful mutants who could make sure a stir, ones in a vulnerable position. So when the middle of New Orleans turned into a fiery wasteland, he smiled.**

_**He had always played the hand he'd been dealt. Scavenging off the streets, being adopted by the LeBeaus, scraping by when everything he touched turned to fire, even the arrangement with beautiful, lethal Bella. He gave a hoarse chuckle. He'd gotten use to coming up on top. He shivered despite the heat. His sleeves were short, his arms bare. He couldn't risk more. The gloves on his hands were tattered – they were a mental comfort if not actual. The door scraped and he turned his head.**_

**There'd been rumors of a mutant with explosive capabilities going back years. He'd been interested from the start, but the Thieves were not an easy clan from which to extract the boy. Before that, he'd simply been one of the nameless, faceless homeless children who pilfered the streets. But now, what potential. To be able to detonate everything within an area, by simple proximity – yes, truly someone he had to meet.**

"_**Remy?"**_

"_**Here," his voice scrapped out of a raw throat and he coughed. He heard Emil step closer, but then pause. His cousin quickly recovered by rummaging through some kind of bag.**_

"_**I got y' some jambala, 'course it ain't hot, mais I figure dat ain't a probleme pour toi-" The boy was babbling, but he let him. It was enough that he'd been brave enough to face the Diable Blanc in his exile. Silence recalled his attention. "I 'ranged a meetin' for y'." He visualized Emil licking his lips in nervousness, a tell he'd always tried to break. "Y' sure 'bout-"**_

_**He stood. "Merci." They'd already been through this argument. This was his hand and he was playing it. **_

_**He heard Emil shift to a standing position and walk to the door. But it didn't close. "Remy, dat help?"**_

_**He knew what he was referring to, but he didn't raise a hand to the bloody blindfold wrapped around his face.**_

"_**Don't hurt."**_

**It had only been a matter of time before the unfortunate mutant searched him out, ironically through the very family that disowned him. Looking for a cure of course, but it would be such a pity to lose such potential.**

_**The trip was a nightmare, walking blind – unable to sleep for fear of waking with everything around him lit, unknowing of the next time the charge would take him, demand release, cry, scream until he was in agony and let it flow – he felt the warning signs, headache, the tingling he just couldn't calm, and he barely managed to get the bus driver to pull over for a rest stop. Thank Dieu for pregnant passengers and small bladders. He'd barely gotten twenty yards from the rest area when the charge almost leapt out of him, like a tiger roaring to be released from its cage. Slinking back onto the bus was a blur, but finally he arrived. He sat down heavily on the agreed-upon bench. He couldn't live like this.**_

**And now finally, he had him in hand. And such potential didn't have to be wasted. **

_**As soon as that cold skin descended on his shoulder, Remy knew this wasn't a man he would want to deal with – but he was out of cards. He didn't remember anything from that moment until waking up after being 'fixed.' He always considered that a blessing.**_

**He smiled.**

_-_

Rogue sat in her seat, trying to breathe deep, flexing her fingers, using the techniques Remy had showed her to control the burning at her fingertips. The oppressive feeling of the minds around her didn't help her concentration, but she refused to push them away. She'd absorbed Jean before, she could do this.

"Is de fille all right?" Lapin – the most unshielded, his concern for her mixed with that for his cousin- she deliberately directed the telepathy inward.

"Absorption's always difficult, especially with powerful mutants." She knew what they were thinking.

This wasn't like Creed though. Creed was a feral, his mind wild as he, anger and fury, roaring and always fighting, chaotic and seeking one to devour. Sinister was a telepath, a chilly order prevailing in his own minds, smug in his superiority, seething at the mere insinuation that someone could take him down, but still reveling in his own manipulations.

_Puppets_, she-he whispered.

Bile rose at the back of her throat and she wished she could curl up in a ball. But she couldn't, couldn't now, now when Sinister had trapped, unleashed Gambit so intently-

_-_

**He hadn't overlooked Gambit's other potential though. He would be worth the hassle of acquisition; brain surgery was such a delicate matter. But his thief skills were virtually unmatched, his ethics flexible, and then there was the matter of his telepathic shields. They were so intriguing. The flow of energy so constant through the body, that they obscured the ****workings of his mind. Truly intriguing, but he was not a specimen he could simply keep on the table to pick apart. A pity that.**

_**The sense he'd gotten when Essex, he'd known it in his gut, had grasped his shoulder had never left him. He wasn't surprised at the cost of his cure – there were always strings. The price of the LeBeaus had been thieving for them, now Essex working for him. He was merely switching one family for – he couldn't complete the lie even in his own mind. His work was information-gathering, a slightly challenging line of work, but one he excelled in. Slip in, slip out, coax words from alcohol-loosened tongues; he had to be hyper-aware, but it wasn't taxing. And it didn't bother him. It was whom he was gathering the information on that unnerved him. Mutants.**_

**Still, he was facing a lull in business. Gambit had already served his purpose for acquiring the background on his next project. This acquisition would take both time and delicacy, but he was hesitant to tap the thief again, he had too big a weak spot for blonde damsels in distress. No, he could part with his services for a little bit. Magneto, with all his grandiose plans, was one to keep an eye on. Contracting Gambit would serve dual purposes, Magneto would be indebted to him and the thief would report on those mutants he met. He loved having such flexible tools.**

_**Mutants. Weak mutants, slinking in shadows. Strong mutants, defiantly making their way through society. He heard the whispers, hisses of the good doctor – Sinister – and those that disappeared in the night. He didn't ask questions; he didn't want to know what Essex did, but the sickening, slimy feeling in his gut refused to disappear. Being signed over to Magneto was almost a relief. The metal maniac was very up-front about his motives, his tactics, big dreams and defiant blustering. A lot of noise and limited action. From what he could tell, Magneto and those under him spent most of their time tangling with the X-kids. After his former work, he reveled in the petty assignments, the freedom – even though it was within eyeshot of that beast.**_

**Sabretooth's presence on Magneto's team also was beneficial. He knew that the feral and the thief had bad blood between them, though he hardly cared for the details. He'd used Sabretooth from time to time, only for muscle jobs. The mutant was too unpolished for more carefully constructed arrangements. The sight of him would be a reminder to Gambit how temporary the contract was. Gambit was his.**

_**He knew the freedom was illusory. One day, Sinister would crook his finger.**_

**It was time to remind him. Magneto had re-surfaced and renounced his whole purpose, leaving the continent even. Gambit's use away was at its end and he needed to re-establish his claim on the mutant, re-impress on Gambit's mind that he was not an X-Man. He smiled as he activated the implant he'd so carefully arranged in the thief's brain. Such potential could not simply be wasted.**

And he came running.

-

She couldn't sit still. With a lurch, she tried to stand, only to have her protective harness catch her mid-rise. Wrestling it off, she headed toward the front of the jet. Belatedly, Cyclops spotted her.

"Rogue-" She cut off his disapproving hiss.

"I'm fine." He glared, but couldn't take his eyes off the controls for too long.

"Are you sure?" Kitty appeared, looking remarkably wide awake for someone she'd thought was napping. She glanced around to see both Wolverine and Nightcrawler with their eyes open, watching the scene. But Lapin twitched with a snore and Jean didn't move from her hunched position beside her fiancée. Fighting Essex had wiped her out – not that the rest weren't tired. When this was over, they'd all have to sleep for a week.

"We'll need all of us in those tunnels." Cyclops' lips tightened, but he didn't argue.

"Rogue, what exactly does Essex want with the Morlocks?"

"Nothing," her stomach turned, but it had been hours since she'd last eaten. Nothing could come up. "They're a waste of genetic material for him. He plans on exterminating them."

"Mein Gott." Kurt, hovering in the shadows, spoke for them all. Rogue swallowed heavily.

"And Remy doesn't know that."

-

He knew them – he'd collected information on them all for Sinister. He'd even known one from back in the days when he actually was on bare-talking terms with the Assassins. Greycrow had been a simple weapons' assembler back then, who'd joke around with a lowly, wary thief. But he'd changed.

They all had.

Sinister called him Scalphunter. Gambit could hear him sharpening his piece-meal weapons, the bulky Harpoon doing likewise beside him, but he didn't turn his head to look. Instead, he coolly surveyed the rest of the gang.

The blonde Vertigo and the only other female, Arclight, were side-by-side, murmuring to each other. Vertigo caught his eye and winked, throwing him a flirtatious smile, but the violette shockwave mutant barely glanced at him. He pretended not to notice either fact.

Riptide, adorned with habitual purple and white to match his odd hair, seemed to debate joining the other men in sharpening weapons. He fingered his shuriken, Chinese stars, but then thought better. He caught Gambit's gaze and smiled, but his lips only formed a sneer.

To his side, Scrambler, the poor boy with the ill-fated name of Kim Il Sung, fidgeted insistently. He couldn't fight, Gambit well knew, but his ability to nullify powers was too good a tool for Sinister to pass up.

Gambit's eyes finally settled on Scalphunter, seated just to his right.

"Bit of a large team for just a simple snatch and grab," he commented idly.

Harpoon looked up with a grin, clutching his signature weapon and pre-empting the question.

"Morlocks are a slippery bunch."

Gambit tilted his head back and lighting a cigarette, took a drag and closed his eyes.

-

Rogue leaned forward and the glimmer of metal at Jean's throat caught her eye. A chain – jewelry was forbidden on missions, but it took little imagination to guess what was on the chain. A ring. Even though not visible, its presence was still palpable.

She felt a familiar stab of envy, but this was hardly the time. Remy was not the committed type; he got bored, he got wary, he got what he wanted, he got scared, he ran. She _knew _this. She and Remy may never share what Jean and Scott had, but they did have something.

And that something was worth pursuing.

"Let us be in time."

-

Gambit stood in the dark New York City street, the butt of cigarette glowing in the shadows.

He crushed the cig the next moment under his boot.

"Showtime," he breathed and led the way into the tunnels.


	20. All Roads

Thank you all for your comments on the alternative narration of Essex and Remy – I like to experiment with forms and knowing that I pulled it off is very gratifying! Rogue presents so many opportunities given the psyches in her head.

Lapin, er Bayou Bunny, was a big hit! Oh, he's so much fun to play with, gonna miss him in New Orleans…

Lots of you also appreciated the comparison between Jott and Romy made by Rogue – the 'something' they have. Jott do have drama, they just have very different personalities and far less personal baggage. But Rogue's still at the point she's resigning herself to what kind of relationship she can have with Remy - and that will be dealt with. The comment is a bit sad and I'm going to explore that contrast more in the sequel – which yes, I will be writing.

* * *

Favorite new nickname – from Chica De Los Ojos Café: "Southern Spices and Spitfires that are Rogue and Remy." I think I'd say vice-versa – Remy's the spice and Rogue's the spitfire!

The thought to ponder – from thriller:

"In the end, after all this...will Rogue be able to touch? and will she have Remy to touch?"

* * *

Thanks to all my lovely reviewers!! I love you and you helped me so much with this fic!

Randirogue, Elindrah (visceral! i love that word!), X-Storm (thanks!), Hubristic Chick, Crazy Mishka, cocopucks, Ele Goddess of Elements, Bellasaurs (it is cute), Coldqueen (oh yeah! And ew!!), Ishandahalf (I think I'm getting better with action sequences, so yay!), lovestoread, Doesn't Matter (jazz hands?), kk hdtwfmtsdnehfwpawtnbwam, allyg1990, pickingwildflowers2, ashez2ashes, deadsnowwhite, tfobmv18, thriller, cream tea anyone, greykupo, vintage demigoddess, Chica De Los Ojos Café (yeah, visceral writing! And I love if you read & review at the same time. –smile- to the rest.)

* * *

Warning: this chapter is not completely linear.

And finally at last:

-

* * *

21) All roads

-

-

"Who are we dealing with?"

"Call 'em the Marauders. Six of 'em. They're to infiltrate the tunnels, then exterminate the Morlocks." Rogue kept talking as if the sound of her voice could drown out the meaning of it. "Riptide, male," she closed her eyes. "Whirling dervish throwing out some kind of nasty sharp things. Harpoon, male, name's from his weapon – but it turns into something, some kind of energy." Her forehead wrinkled as she tried to retrieve information, pulling up pictures and scattered thoughts. "Arclight, female, something about – shockwaves? Vertigo, female, blonde."

"Lemme guess, causes vertigo?" Despite everything, Lapin managed a grin.

"Scalphunter, male, lots'a weapons." She frowned, feeling a flicker from Remy's psyche. Some kind of – connection? There was no time. She pushed it aside. "The weapons design'd ta go right through defenses, even mutant. One hit an' dat's it."

Shadowcat shuddered. "Scalphunter? He doesn't like, actually go for scalps does he?"

"That's five," Cyclops said with a frown, as always only focused on the mission. Nightcrawler patted the brunette on the arm reassuringly.

Rogue shrugged helplessly. "I cin see one, but don't t'ink he's a fighta." The statement caused an exchange of looks.

Cyclops gave a short nod, eyes flicking over the ensemble. "This wasn't what we expected," he told them needlessly. Shadowcat hugged herself. "But we've dealt with situations like this. Once we get into the tunnels, we split into teams. Announce yourselves as X-Men as soon as you see, hear or sense anyone around you. The Marauders will attack regardless, but the Morlocks should stand down. Keep in mind an exit at all times – we are trying to assist escapes as well as defend. Same teams as last time, but Wolverine you're solo." Wolverine grunted. Rogue had seen them talk quietly earlier and she had no doubt he had his own private mission. She bit her lip. Remy wouldn't be involved, not as soon as he realized, she knew that…

Lapin's bo-staff spiraled out as his face set.

"Y' ain't leavin' m' here."

Cyclops had anticipated this response. "This is mutant combat Lapin and-"

"In de close quarters, I be more a help. Got de staff an' m' fists. An' I intend t' find my kin." Their eyes locked in a long look.

Watching them, Wolverine stated, "I ain't takin' him."

"He can come with me," Jean said. "This way I'll have a partner and we can cover each other."

They shared their own long look and Rogue knew an argument was raging in the silent realm. But Cyclops' frown just deepened and it was clear who won.

"Fine, but just remember what happened with Sinister." Rogue managed a weak smile. So now he was _Sinister_. "Mutants have advantages-"

Lapin snorted. "I tangled wit' 'ssaisans before." Rogue felt Cyclops' gaze rest on her, despite his obscuring visor, but she didn't say anything.

"Fine," Cyclops grit out. "We meet here by three. If you need to talk, get above ground. Communication gets screwed up down there. However, emergency contact can be made with Jean. Rogue, you think you can handle a link?" She knew he was asking about Essex's powers. Tendrils of power were still there; she nodded blankly.

"Let's go."

And they descended into the darkness.

-

"Where are they?" Harpoon said impatiently, adjusting his grip on his harpoon.

"Maybe it be dere naptime." Harpoon shot Gambit a scowl, while Arclight just rolled her eyes as the group came to a stop.

"They are underground, they could be on a different schedule," Scrambler said hesitantly, unconsciously wringing his hands as the group focused on him. "But we do have the resting chambers scouted."

"Wouldn't be so imprecise if I'd had a hand in recon," Gambit said, leaning against a slippery wall with all the nonchalance of being in a lounge.

"Yes, but you were occupied elsewhere, weren't you?" Riptide's voice was chilly. Arms crossed against his chest, his collection of stars winked in and out of the dim light.

Vertigo's lips turned into a frown, her full lips almost pouting. "Yeah, weren't y' too busy screwin' 'round with the, what are they called," freshly manicured nails ticked against her mouth, "X-twerps?"

Gambit raised an eyebrow, refusing to let the jibe slide under his skin. "Meanwhile, you were screwin' round-" Vertigo's eyes flashed and Scalphunter raised a hand.

"Enough. We'll split up. Riptide, you're with Arclight. Head towards the living quarters. Vertigo, you're with Harpoon. Head off the main exit." Harpoon leered, but Vertigo just tossed her hair, 'whatever.'

"What about me?" Scrambler rubbed his hands nervously.

"Stay here. If we need you for someone's powers, we'll call for you."

"By myself?" His voice squeaked. There were snickers.

"Just lie low."

The group split. Gambit followed Scalphunter. He'd known the man would pick him and he caressed the card in his hand.

-

The roll of his stomach was the first sign the pair he and Shadowcat had stumbled upon weren't Morlocks.

"X-twerps, oh this is going to be fun!" a bright voice practically chirped. He just glimpsed a glow off blond hair from the light of the holed pothole above them when Shadowcat grabbed him. Tugging him back, he felt the always unnerving sensation of becoming indescribably light and _unreal_. But the lessening of his headache made him realize the benefit. A sudden bright streak erupted from the shadows and nearly sliced him in half – would have if he'd been totally present. He winced as it sliced into the wall beyond him. And there was that benefit too. There was a grumbling to his far left and he took another step back, unnervingly realizing his feet was sliding through the floor to do so.

"Thanks Shadowcat," he murmured. "But I need to disarm them. On three, you go into the wall." He felt her nod, a ghost of a sensation that rippled through their mutually incorporeal bodies. The flicker of blonde reappeared, stepping into a crack of light to peer into the gloom hiding the X-Men. "One, two – _three_" he sunk to his knees, refusing to let his dizziness deter him from unleashing a wide optical arc.

The woman gave an inarticulate cry, her body thudding into the ground, and the feeling of disorientation disappeared so abruptly that Cyclops' head whirled and he had to grip the wall next to him.

Shadowcat reappeared in the shrand light, leaning down to check on Vertigo – and Cyclops cursed out loud.

"Shadow-" but his warning came too late. Another flash of silver rippled through the dark, a gleeful chuckle and Shadowcat arched in a scream. "SHADOWCAT!" He leapt to his feet, meeting the next aimed harpoon with a fiery blast of his optics. It was going to take more to disarm him and recklessly, his finger spun the dial of his visor. His next blast obliterated the harpoon and the slam of the man's body was audible even over the rush of blood in Cyclops' ears. He could smell burning, but Harpoon wasn't his concern.

Shadowcat was shuttering, her body spasming over the inert form of Vertigo. "Shadowcat? Kitty?" His eyes immediately lifted to the manhole, trying to map out if they'd come up in an alley or street. The ceiling rumbled lightly – a street. He cursed again.

_Jean?_

-

He smelled the blood long before he reached the body. There was no light in this patch of the tunnels, but Wolverine's senses easily accommodated.

He crouched down, careful not to touch the remains. A dagger to the gut, dead from the piercing, not bleeding out. The man's face was calm, eyes closed, hands half-curled.

_Red? _

_**Yes Wolverine? **_

_Found one of 'em. He's dead. _

_**Do you know which one?**_

He took stock of the wide range of weapons, knives, clubs, hatchets and some metal contraptions – one bloodied, that layered some kind of body armor.

_Scalper, pretty sure. _

_**One down **_– he didn't think she meant for him to hear the thought as it was low like a mutter. There was a pause. _**Cyclops says to meet up with Rogue and Nightcrawler – he just neutralized Vertigo and Harpoon. Shadowcat is hurt so he's going to bring her to the Morlocks' medlab. Rogue and Kurt will need help if they find the other two. **_

_Will do._

His eyes flicked to the blood-splattered wall beyond him.

He knew who that blood belonged to.

-

Jean rubbed her forehead before easing her stiff hands off it. It was times like this she felt like a glorified com link. Still, at least she'd been able to orient her fiancée to the medlab. She turned to inform her partner of the newest development.

"Wolverine just found- Lapin?"

Her head swiveled and confirmed Lapin was nowhere to be seen. "Dammit." Scott was soo going to tell her 'I told you so.'

Lapin felt a little bad for abandoning the fellow redhead, but he'd told them what his top priority was: Remy. He carefully peered around the corner of the next tunnel, keeping a close eye on the little screen fitted neatly beneath a sliding panel, strategically located at grip level of the bo-staff.

The staff wasn't actually his; adamantium wasn't that easy to come by. Jean-Luc had gifted the multi-faceted staffs to his two sons upon their passing the Tilling and formal Guild acceptance. Among other conveniences, the staffs had trackers specifically constructed to work together – however, they were only intended for short range. Jean-Luc didn't want the tracers to ever be able to be used against the Thieves. But for that reason only had Henri lent his to Lapin.

Now if he could just figure out which tunnel would actually bring him closer to Remy instead of sending him on a trail ending in the opposite direction… Did the X-Men always go into missions with such little prep?

Preoccupied, he nearly ended up tripping over hunched figure. "'ello?" he said breathily, trying to squint into the darkness. The form shuddered. "Er, not gonna 'urt you." He hesitated to call himself an X-Man. Spending the last twelve hours with them, he'd come to a greater appreciation of them. "Look, y'd be betta off hittin' de streets 'til de Marauders an' Morlocks finish dukin' it out. T'ink dere's an exit street-side, alley way back de way I come." Quite overlooking the fact any Morlocks would know all the exits, he felt pleased with himself as the boy immediately followed the direction.

And Scrambler scuttled out of the sewers.

-

For such a tiny slip of a thing, Shadowcat was actually pretty heavy. Of course, he came to this conclusion after staggering down the fifth tunnel with her slumped in his arms. She spasmed every few moments, the times in between increasing as time went on. Cyclops tried to see that as a positive sign. "Gotta lay off the muffins Kitty," he muttered, pausing against one of the walls.

He immediately tensed as the echo of approaching footsteps. Gritting his teeth, he gently lowered Shadowcat to rest against the wall. His hand went to his visor as the end of the tunnel became luminescent, a dim glow of some kind of light source approaching. Hopefully not more Marauders with lighting.

Turning the corner, he was blinded. "This is the X-Men," he announced, his voice clear. He was about to continue but-

"Scott?" It took a minute for Cyclops to place the voice. His hand dropped from his visor and he squinted.

"Evan?"

The bony form became clear as his eyes adjusted. Spyke broke into a grin, before it fell. "Cyclops, what are you guys doing here? And now?"

There was another body behind Spyke – and the glint of red eyes was enough for Cyclops. Gambit was pinned against the wall before Spyke could even finish his second question. The thief didn't resist though, spreading his hands out non-threateningly. His finger tensed on his visor.

Spyke was at his side. "Dude, isn't he an X-Man?" He reached and tugged at Gambit's coat, revealing the metal X the former Acolyte had affixed to his shoulder upon his switch. It glinted in the lantern's glow, stark against the deep red and black bodysuit that comprised the rest of the uniform.

Cyclops held firm, but eased his finger off the trigger. "He's helping us manage this Marauder break-in."

Taking a deep breath, he eased his grip. "Yes, he is…" he said in a flat tone.

"Bad time f' y' ta pop in f' a visit," Gambit drawled, still putting up no resistance.

"You went AWOL." There was one thing that Scott could simply not stand about Gambit, the single thing that drove him absolutely up the wall – his infuriating, utterly galling lack of seriousness. The fact Gambit could just sidle in with Kitty in unknown condition –

Spyke laughed. "Guess you haven't been an X-Man long," he leaned in confidingly. "They really don't like that."

"Had business-"

"Yeah I know-"

The verbal dueling was cut short by a cluck of the tongue from behind them. "What's dis? T' minutes an' less an' yah at each otta throats? Guess de X-Men a'really _ton famille_!" This time Gambit actually did start, Cyclops blinking unseen. Spyke raised an eyebrow. The tunnels hadn't had this many visitors in ages.

"What de hell-?"

Lapin grinned, twirling the staff. "Found yah."

Cyclops focused on the more issue, his gaze immediately going to behind the Cajun. "Where's Jean?" he demanded.

Lapin gave an exaggerated look around him. "Musta misplaced de _fille_," he quickly advanced on his cousin, automatically looking him over. The grin disappeared and he cursed in Cajun. "_Qu'est-ce qui_?"

He went to grab Gambit's hands, but stopped himself in time – though he couldn't drag his eyes from the drip-drip of blood from his palms.

Remy's eyes darkened.

-

**He easily got the drop on him; it would be the only chance he would have at getting a clean punch.**

**The Marauder dropped like a lead weight, but tucked his roll – springing back with the ease of a jungle cat. The two men went down, tangling like the trained fighters they were. Gambit was slick as an alley cat, flexible and long-winded, but Scalphunter had more pure brawn. Gambit slid from his grip, wincing at the slices that the other man's arsenal had inflicted. He reached for his cards – but Scalphunter swung at him. It was too dark to see what was in his hand.**

**A two-pronged spear, shaped like an oversized meat fork, crucified Gambit to the wall. He writhed, but gritting his teeth he tried to release his coiled energy. It shot back through, like he'd stuck his hands into an enormous electric socket. Scalphunter, just like always, had made the perfect weapon to short out his victim's powers. The thought made his stomach turn.**

"**Had that saved for you," Scalphunter coughed, rubbing his ribs. "Y' pack a nastier punch after all these years."**

**Gambit leaned his head back. "Can' say likewise."**

**Scalphunter tisked tiredly, "Always knew you weren't 'ssaisan material, Remyboy. Told Essex that, but you know him – that just makes it better for him."**

**Gambit nodded, "Yeah," and lashed out with his toe, catching the Marauder right in the gut. "I told 'im y' talk'd too much."**

**Gritting his teeth, he swung his feet up to shove the skewer further back, wrenching his hands from the wall. The contraption fell to the floor with a clatter, Gambit landing heavily on his heels beside it. He readied for Scalphunter's attack, but all that greeted him was a liquidy chuckle.**

"**Right as always." He stared as Scalphunter stumbled to his knees. Sensitive red eyes, with great night vision, stared in horror at the dagger his toe must have caught, shoved upward into his chest.**

"**John-" the name came out of the depths of a teenaged boy with few friends outside the 'family.' Remy allowed his knees to collapse beneath him, sinking as if in reverence.**

"**Plannin' on letting me live weren't you?" He couldn't raise his eyes, just stare at the blood as it dripped. Greycrow chuckled again. "Too much heart for this line Remy, that's the trouble." There was no sneering in his voice and Remy couldn't speak. "Essex could patch me up." That snapped him out of the daze. Greycrow reached out to loosely grasp Remy's coat. Remy couldn't move. "-don't let him."**

**And Remy closed his eyes as he slipped the dagger in.**

-

"Don' ask."

-

Rogue missed the early fights – one-on-one with a clear attacker, one you knew and could jeer, with recognizable settings and only needing to tie up or tire out or knock unconscious to end the battle of the day.

She gripped the slimy bricks behind her, trying desperately to not let the ricocheting soundwaves make her hurl. Tantalizing glimpses of purple faded in and out of the dark.

They'd heard the screams and run right into a mish-mash of mutants. With Arclight flinging around her soundwaves, it was hard to tell friend from foe, though they had managed to yell "X-Men."

She'd seen a puff of smoke – Nightcrawler managing to bypass the pair of Marauders and take two of the Morlocks somewhere, she assumed – but as soon as it had reappeared, he'd screamed, making the very sludge around her feet vibrate. A blur of purple and white had given her the reason – _shuriken, that's what dey are_ – and she desperately dodged to avoid the spiraling stars.

She tasted blood as her teeth bit into her lip, echoing the point lodging into her lower leg. So much for that super-tough fabric. Bricks shattered debris, liberally dusting her.

She kept low, not daring to call out to her foster brother. Backup would soo be appreciated right about now.

But she wasn't an X-Woman for nothing and let the psyches within in her unfurl – she was losing Essex slowly, but she could feel Remy boiling in her blood. Her hands began to tingle.

She went for the female first, sending a burst of pure psychic _force _at her – **how yah like feelin' the floor wants to meet all yah internal organs – **before tumbling and throwing the piece of brick she'd collected towards where she sensed the other, a strange sickly magenta glow lighting up the darkness before colliding with one very surprised Riptide mid-spin.

The tunnel shook as the explosion resonated and Rogue was thrown to the ground. She barely had time to do anything more than cough before –

"Learning more tricks aren't you?" a slick voice hissed at her back. "We'll have to follow up on that."

The pinprick was tiny, all things considered. But the effect was instantaneous as the world around her suddenly flew into color, taste, touch like acid had just dripped straight into her brain stem.

She screamed.

-

_Terrorhurtspainvomitinsideoutmeltinghurtsburnschokespinningpainhurtsterrorfearfearpanicdesperatedesperatemakeitstopvomitburning-_

Remy nearly fell over, his empathetic senses reeling under the onslaught and reflexively he started to shut them down – but he knew that pain.

He cursed, not aware if it was English or French or even out loud. "What de hell-"

He fought the urge to vomit and reeled in his senses, trying to distinguish the direction. He lurched that way mindless, before Cyclops caught his arm.

"Where do you think you're going?"

He awoke.

"Rogue's in trouble."

"What?" Cyclops inadvertently let go – and Gambit didn't bother explaining. "How do you-" He raced in the direction he'd felt her. "Gambit!"

Cyclops ground his jaw, but took stock of the situation. "Spyke, take Shadowcat to the medlab – and Lapin, stay with them!" He didn't wait to see them agree, but took off after Gambit.

The tunnels were a maze even at the best of times and Gambit had to pause every few intersections, closing his eyes and trying to see if he could sense her again. He'd never tracked anyone this way – not from this distance. Cyclops would barely catch up, barking out the same questions, before he took off again.

At one such crossing, Jean appeared. "Rogue's in trouble. This-" Gambit, ignoring the confirmation, raced by her. "-way," Jean finished, looking confused. Her gaze met Cyclops, who just shook his head.

"I haven't the faintest idea," he muttered as she took her place beside him.

Three tunnels later, Gambit hit the jackpot. He could feel her – more muted, but still in a frenzy of pain. He let his eyes close, taking a deep breath to compose himself, and having to reign in the impulse to charge straight in.

"Whoever's dere, jus' leave de _femme _alone-"

Three Chinese stars, ominously blood-specked, thudded into the tunnel wall in front of Gambit. "And Gambit comes riding on a white horse to save a damsel in distress, how surprising," Riptide's voice echoed. Gambit palmed a pack, only to be stopped by Cyclops' grip.

"If you charge them high enough, some debris might hit Rogue. Nightcrawler's supposed to be with her too." Cyclops' face was pale, but calm, even as the missing X-Men obviously troubled him.

"He's unconscious," Jean murmured, "nearby."

There was a grunt from the other side of tunnel entrance. Heads snapped to see Wolverine appear from the darkness. "Let me handle this."

He walked straight into the occupied tunnel. Cyclops bit his lip to keep his protest in, but Jean pushed forward. There was a metallic clank, shuriken meeting adamantium-coated bone, beside other thuds and Jean raised her hand, careful to deflect stars to the ground rather than risk ricochet.

Gambit and Cyclops peered around the corner in time to see Wolverine reach right into the colorful whirl and grab whatever was there – in this case, the front of Riptide's outfit. Drawing him closer, he sneered before slamming the startled man straight into the wall behind him. Riptide crumbled into a heap.

Gambit didn't wait longer, rushing immediately to Rogue's prone body, not watching as Wolverine stoically plucked the shuriken out of his body like bothersome thorns.

"Be careful," Cyclops said, hovering. Rogue was face-down and Gambit gently turned her over, ignoring the pain in his hands, to arrange her in his lap. Her right leg was bloody, a star still lodged in it, the fabric ripped on both sides. There were a few other nicks and a dusting of rock fragments, but nothing else so serious. Rogue was moaning though and Gambit could feel her emotions still free-wheeling. What did they do-?

His world tunneled down to the girl in his lap, as he gently cupped her face with his uncovered fingers. Cyclops' protest went unheard.

"_Du calme ma chérie, du calme_," Remy breathed. "Remy be here." He felt the static of her skin cling to his fingers, her power reaching, leeching – then subsiding. The mutation nibbled at his energy, suckled like a child with her thumb. The sheer cool _relief _could've driven him to his knees if he hadn't already been on them. "Dieu…"

Her eyes fluttered even as the turmoil in her mind began to settle. "Remy?"

Impulsively, he dropped a kiss on her forehead, blinking his eyes. "_Oui, chère."_

A very, very weak smile twitched her lips. "Found you."

He lowered his head. "That y' did _chère_."

"That y' did."


	21. All's Well

Woah, this is it. The end of this fanfiction. This is actually the first long one I've finished – I think that's a tad sad. Ironically, I started this fic in another country – which I will be returning to in under a month. Perfect place for starting the sequel I guess. Don't it expect it until at least mid-October though. Lots will be going on. I will have an in-between fic coming out in the next few weeks. It'll be something like an epilogue, from Kitty's p.o.v., very similar to the Interlude: Date With an Angel – but this time with a _Diable. _As to the content of the sequel, well you'll just have to wait & see…

You all assume it was Riptide who injected Rogue… (-mwah,hah,hah-)

Everyone got that John Greycrow Scalphunter. It was his real name, a name Remy knew him by back in the day with Assassins in New Orleans.

I love that thought the p.o.v.s were weaving and a little confusing, you all figured it out by the end and I got compliments as how it built suspense – I was trying to! Thanks ishandahalf!

-

Thanks to all my readers and lovely reviewers! It's been quite a ride!

Seren McGowen (yes, so now they'll have to strengthen it), jasmine3883 (thanks!), unknown, just a little note (oops! have to do more research, drat!), lovestoread, Wiccamage (Hide & Seek - you're right!), Ashley, Bellasaurs (lol), Doesn't Matter (yoah, thanks for the definition!), X-Storm (yup, more scars. thanks!), coldqueen, Roguechere (thank you, I loved that line too!), romylover, deadsnowwhite (-guilty giggle- and yeah, isn't it lovely?), tfobmv18 (you will see him again!), ShadowFax999, New Moon Night, Mokana-chan, greykupo, dreamschemer (LOL!), cream tea anyone (I was hoping the pace was okay), ishandahalf, and allyg1990.

* * *

-

21) All's well?

-

-

* * *

Cyclops could be patient. His priorities always put the members of the team first. So he waited to voice the questions clawing at his brain.

He waited as Shadowcat, Rogue and a blood-flecked Nightcrawler were carefully checked over by the Morlocks' appointed physicians. Shadowcat was warned not to use her powers for a good forty-eight hours at least, as well as getting fed painkillers to ride out the last of the nerve damage. Nightcrawler's wounds were all wrapped and, after trying to bolt from his bed upon hearing Rogue had been injected with some kind of hallucinogenic drug right into the muscles by her spine, he was ordered to remain as still as possible. Rogue had been forcefully knocked out; the drug they'd identified from the syringe left at the scene would take a while to dissipate from her system. Her leg had also been bandaged.

He waited as Spyke explained how Gambit had called him on the X-Men com-link, identifying himself as an X-man and warning him of the Marauders' plans. Marrow and he had cleared out the most defenseless of the Morlocks, then set up ambush points where they would engage the Marauders. The team Rogue and Nightcrawler had 'rescued' was one such group.

He waited as Morlocks trickled in, reporting that Harpoon had been found trying to drag himself out of the sewers. He was put in with the specially trussed up Riptide and Arclight to wait for judgment. Vertigo had disappeared, as had Scrambler. Scalphunter was found dead.

He waited as one by one, the X-men were deemed able, if not fit, for travel. Spyke wanted to keep them longer, but Cyclops insisted that Dr. McCoy was more than up for taking care of them.

He waited as carefully the patients were placed aboard the jet, taking up three of the four built in beds housed within two cabins in the back.

But as the X-Jet rose into the air, he could wait no longer.

"But the hell did you think you were doing?" he demanded, nearly wrenching his harness out of alignment as he snapped it off and towered over Remy.

Force never worked well with Remy. "'s mah own business."

"The hell it was! You practically blew apart the Medlab – and then hook up with this completely psychotic psychic, before dashing away to do his bidding-"

Remy bristled. "I knew what I was doin'-"

Scott was on a roll though "-leading us to the Morlock tunnels, getting Kitty, Kurt and Rogue hurt-"

Despite the fact Remy had known her name was coming, it still sparked off like a live wire inside him. He threw off his harness as well, to join in the shouting match.

"I didn't ask y' t' come!"

Scott scowled. "Yeah, well Rogue wouldn't be convinced otherwise-"

Remy hadn't been expected that. "Why de-"

Scott threw his hands up. "I DON'T KNOW! You tell me!"

The two men's voices had steadily risen and the outbreak of silence was staggering. Kurt was the one to break it, despite the fact he was supposed to be resting in one of the attached rooms.

"I vould like to know too."

Scott turned, feeling his exhaustion really begin to weigh on him for the first time. "Kurt, you're not supposed to be moving around."

"I can hear from here." Kitty's equally interested face could be seen peeking out next to him.

Scott sighed. "You two just stay in bed." Remy had slouched back into his chair and Scott crossed his arms. "I want some answers Gambit. I'm not sure how you ever considered Sinister a good option, but we could've handled the issue."

"Setting off anythin' in de area of m' is more den 'an issue' One eye."

"We still could have dealt with it." Remy just withdrew his cards, shuffling them with one long thrum. "And as for the Mauraders-"

"I ain't stupid Boy scout, I knew Sinister was up t' not'in' good – even coordinated with Spyky. De job was handled." Remy spoke in an iron tone, leaving no argument. Scott felt otherwise however.

"You should've alerted us."

"An' bring in more players? _Non, j'ai imagine _dat dat'd just screw t'ings up an' get someone hurt!" The fact his actions had led to Rogue's injuries was distressing enough without adding another two.

"If you had just-"

"An' if y' hadn't-"

"Will yah two jus' shut up!" Logan finally snarled, getting tired off the about-to-circle argument. Both men shot him mutinous looks. "Card Boy should've clued up in, but he's a loner con who doesn't think like an X-Men. Yet," he added cutting off Scott's desire to pick up that line of thought. "But he still managed to pull it off while we rushed in like a pack of newbies."

"And we had to go through Sinister." Scott had no shortage of grievances.

Remy curled his fingers around his cards, inwardly cursing. "Didn't intend f' any of y' t' get involved wit' dat."

"Bit late for zat," Kurt grumbled.

"You should be apologizing to Rogue," Scott said, already having an idea that putting her name in would make it mean more to the insolent thief.

His head come up like a blood hound. "Rogue?"

"She had to absorb him, to find out where to find you."

Remy snapped the pack, feeling most definitely ill. Dieu, he could go for a smoke – but his hands still ached like the devil after Scalphunter's little skewer-Gambit stunt. Sinister, in Rogue's mind, she'd had to deal with him, sort through him, to find _him_.

Emil whistled appreciatively, bringing attention to the group who'd honestly forgotten his presence. "Dat is some _femme _y' got _cousin_."

"_Je ne leur ai pas." (She ain't mine, lit. __I don't have her) _Remy corrected him reflexively, mind still reeling.

Emil raised an eyebrow.

"_C'est vrai_? Last time I checked, _femmes_ don't zig-zag de country f' just nobody."

Scott's jaw hardened. "You know, that's a really good observation Lapin – and as much as I'd like to credit X-Men loyalty for Rogue's determination, I really, really don't think that's it. Just what is going on between you and Rogue?"

Remy's eyes hooded. "Dat'd be 'tween me an' Rogue, _hein_?"

Scott crossed his arms. "Not anymore," he snapped heatedly. "You touched Rogue when she was clearly out-of-control – and this time, you even walked away without even a stumble."

Remy's jaw took a stubborn set.

"'s time Cajun."

Scott's eyes flicked back and forth between Logan and Remy. "You know about this?" Scott's hands fisted. "I want to know what's been going on, NOW!"

Remy had a blatant glower, but finally – reluctantly, "She came t' me for some practice, _d'accord_?"

Scott, by this point, didn't seem terribly surprised. "Why wasn't it during her regular practices then?"

Twitching in agitation, Kurt cut to the next, more important question in his mind. "Vhy'd she need you? She vas practicing with me and-"

Remy let out a snicker. "I didn't know you swung that way."

His tail in full twitch mood, Kurt straightened. "Vhat, I don't swing anyway!"

Kitty bit her lip, "Uh Kurt, you swing at least one way."

Scott ignored the interruption. "So you and her–" he waited for the fill-in.

"De _chérie_ wanted to know what ta do wit' a boyfriend. So she came ta Gambit." Remy looked fixedly at a wall, falling to a display of relaxation to cover his agitation.

"Looks like Gambit taught her more dan dat if she got unda y' skin," Emil grinned as Remy shot him a glare.

"I'm still confused about something," Kitty finally piped up. "When did this practice start?"

Remy shrugged. "'Bout de time yah broke y' leg."

"That long?" Scott blinked.

Kitty didn't look too surprised. "But it stopped for awhile though, didn't it? Rogue didn't start sneaking out of the room until after you came back from retrieving Joseph." Remy could only blame the painkillers they'd put her on for her actually saying that in front of the eternal boy scout.

"Who's Joseph?" Emil was ignored.

"Sneaking out?" Scott sounded horrified. Kurt's facial fur took on a somewhat purple tint.

Remy answered her question instead. "We had a small," he paused for the slightest moment, "difference in opinion."

Emil snickered. "What she kick you afta de _nuit première_?" Remy's hands froze and Emil fairly cackled with glee. "De King o' Hearts kicked t' de curb – wait 'til Henri hears 'bout dis!"

"What are you doin' here anyway?" he finally asked. He desperately wanted to light up, but everytime the charge tingled through his hands, it immediately rebounded into a deep throb.

Scott's lips compressed. "We needed to find Sinister's location, so Rogue pointed us to New Orleans and scrounged up him."

"An' yah came jus' like dat?" He wanted to snap his fingers, but he had to settle for an eyebrow quirk.

"Y'are _mon favori cousin_," Emil shrugged. "Besides de _chérie_ be pretty persuasive," his eyes slanted slyly. "Y' could jus' ask Bella. Gave her one right t' de jaw."

Remy went rigid. "She WHAT?"

"Fantastic right cross." Remy barely heard him. Belladonna and Rogue, together.

"Mon Dieu." He sat down.

Scott's jaw tensed. He'd only heard about the punch after the fact – it galled him, but it was irrelevant at the moment. "Back to the point, you've resumed practicing," he said the word like he was in the middle of a storm in a leaky boat, "to this current time. And that's it, just 'practicing.' And you allowed this?" He turned to Wolverine, unable to fathom the idea. Wolverine's jaw ground, but he kept his eyes on flying.

"Chuck thought it'd be best to keep out of it."

"Professor X knew too?" It was too much. Scott collapsed defeatedly into his chair.

"De tops do keep tags, don't dey?" Emil gave a whistle. He hadn't imagined Xavier would be so laid-back.

"Hard to keep things from a high-level telepath," Kitty said vaguely.

"I can't believe you're just using her-" It was the wrong word to use – but no one had ever accused Scott of being too sensitive/perceptive. Remy straightened as if stung by a swarm.

"Don' be pointin' de finger jus' at me. It takes two, _mon ami_. An' de _femme _came t' me."

"So who's usin' who?" Emil sounded amused. Remy wouldn't look at him. "For what's 's worth dough, she seemed _un peu (a little) _mo' concerned den you'd t'ink, given all."

"**Found yah."**

Remy didn't say anything.

Scott looked ready to take back up the argument, but Logan caught his eye in time and gave him a decisive head shake.

"I'm goin' t' check on her." No one expected him to come back.

Scott frowned, but didn't stop him. "Just don't disturb her."

Remy sneered at him. "Got practice wit' dat."

As soon as he pressed the door closed behind him though, the attitude fell away. He leaned back, just looking at the resting figure on the bed. Her face was too pale, her uniform still smudged with dust, the pure white of her bandages contrasting strongly with the black. She looked like a china doll that had been handled too roughly. A wry smile creased his lips. She wouldn't appreciate the thought. A china action figure perhaps.

Stepping closer, he slid into a crouch, ignoring the ache in his knees. A finger ghosted her face, just barely brushing a stray lock of hair from her forehead. Her breathing was calm and even – and he felt his throat choke.

She'd come for him.

"**I knew it wouldn't transfer," **her voice whispered in his brain.

She'd come _(back)_ for him.

The other bed was too far. With the gentleness he could muster, he scoped her up in his wounded hands and slid into bed next to her. He kept himself near the edge, keeping her nestled between him and the wall. It wasn't too comfortable, but her very proximity was its own balm. He placed his nose in her hair and for a moment, it was almost like they were back in his bed – except she'd never slept – _her bed._

He shut his eyes.

-

_I think you can do much better than me _

_After all the lies I made you believe _

_Guilt kicks in and I start to see _

_The edge of the bed _

_Where your nightgown used to be _

_--I told myself I wouldn't miss you _

_But I remembered _

_What it feels like beside you _

_I really miss your hair in my face _

_And the way your innocence tastes _

-

He watched him as he said goodbye. Remy had ventured to the bottom of the gangplank, stepping gingerly onto the ground he'd been exiled from years ago. Emil could only imagine the thoughts in his head as he looked on the bright lights of his former home. He'd borrowed a light from his cousin and now he stood, blowing smoke into the darkening twilight.

The reverie seemed sacred and Emil hesitated to interrupt – but even as he paused, a slim brunette figure descended the steps carefully. Scott immediately moved to stop her, but Emil managed to catch his arm.

"Give dem a moment _homme_." He was sure that Scott would ignore him, but Wolverine grunted something about checking on the others and the boy leader reluctantly returned inside the jet. Emil lingered.

She wrapped her arms around him, probably using it as a way to anchor herself as well as comfort him. He missed what Remy said first.

"Ah'm fine, sugah," her voice was smooth as molasses – and Emil smiled at the fact she still had to be a bit high. "Know yah miss heah – 's all I could think when weh firs' stopped here. De sights, de smells…" She lapsed into silence and looked rather dreamily into the Big Easy.

"Yeah," he murmured, almost too low for Emil to catch. He knew how he'd have finished the sentence though.

_De familie._

"Yah afraid of meh Remy?" Remy straightened at the abrupt question, turning to her.

"_Non chérie. Alors pas_," _(Of course not)_ his hand intertwined with Rogue's bringing it up to brush his lips, despite the fact it was gloved. The two faced each other – and in the last fading streaks of sunset Emil felt like a voyeur.

"Ah ain't afraid of yah either." Emil could see she'd taken his other hand and he, of all people, knew the significance of that simple gesture.

Rogue turned away first. "Now ah know ah gotta be high, but ah want t' share a bed wit' you f' some more 'fore we end up at the Mansion." Remy was smiling when they both noticed him.

He pretended not to have heard as Rogue flushed quite attractively. "So _cousin_, looks like y' got in an' outta trouble wit' jus' like always – dough usually de _belle filles_ be de ones gettin' y' inta trouble, not outta it."

Remy's smile curled into a grin as he loped his arm around Rogue. "_Qu'est que je peux parler? (What can I say?) _Rogue's a special _femme_."

"So I cin see," Emil said, unable to resist lifting her hand to give it his own kiss. "It's been a pleasure _toujours_." _(always)_ Remy rolled his eyes and Rogue did likewise, before plucking her hand away.

"Yeah, yeah bayou bunny. Now scat 'til we next see yah."

Emil's eyes went to his cousin. "Hope it won't be too long," and they shared weak smiles.

And he left them there – but not before hearing. "Bayou bunny?"

D- it. Now he was never going to live it down.

-

_And I think you should know this _

_You deserve much better than me_

Hinder, Better Than Me

-

If Remy closed his eyes, feeling her head rest on his bare chest, fingers lingering at the edge of her hip, he could imagine that it had all been a nightmare – and he had awoken in her bed.

But he had never slept in her bed.

He opened his eyes, staring at the ceiling. They were in his room. All Rogue needed was rest and he'd managed to wrangle it could be done in his room. At least for this night. Xavier had been clear that they would no longer have free access to each others' rooms.

"**I'm hoping you two will come to a final resolution," Xavier said with a look Remy could not mistake.**

Rogue shifted in his arms. Her hair brushed against his face and he let his fingers ghost under the sheer undershirt she wore. It was his – she'd said something about bras being too uncomfortable and had slipped into it instead. The tightening he'd felt in his chest at the sight of her in that and her dark panties, he couldn't explain.

Her hand brushed by the waistband of his flaming cards boxers – they were his favorite, and comfortable, but then slid away. He understood though.

Tonight wasn't about sex.

It was just – them.

She leaned toward him, her nose coming to rest on his chest. Her breathing began to even and he could tell she was near sleep.

"I love you," she whispered, impressing the words into his skin like ink to parchment, even as she completed the slide into sleep.

He wasn't surprised; even knew she'd intended for him not to respond. Had she slept that first night to avoid this moment, as well?

He stayed awake far into the night, pondering the gambit.

-

_I was blown away._

_What could I say?_

_It all seemed to make sense._

_You've taken away everything,_

_And I can't deal with that._

_--I try to see the good in life,_

_But good things in life are hard to find._

_We'll blow it away, blow it away._

_Can we make this something good?_

_Well, I'll try to do it right this time around._

_--Let's start over._

_'Cause a part of me is dead and in the ground._

_This love is killing me,_

_But you're the only one._

_It's not over._

Daughtry - It's Not Over


End file.
